


Ties of the Force

by literary_potato



Series: Star Wars: The Old Republic [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Character Development, F/M, Romance, Sequel, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 68,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_potato/pseuds/literary_potato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "A Fool's Crime." Takes place 2 years after the end of Sith Warrior Act 3, after the Rise of the Hutt Cartel. Original storyline, but with elements derived from the Shadow of Revan expansion. Spoilers for Sith Warrior, Imperial Agent, Smuggler, and Sith Inquisitor storylines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing in Action

_War between the Empire and Republic rages on. With both sides caught in a stalemate and desperate to gain an edge, the Empire has turned to Hutt space for aid._

_Over the past two years, the Emperor's Wrath Ishtaa has brought most of Hutt Space under the Empire's control._

_Only one gang continues to resist: the vicious BLACK VEINS, a criminal network intent on creating anarchy and strife that refuses to accept the Empire's rule. After months of planning, Ishtaa decided to put her plan into motion._

_But her plans have been disrupted: in the midst of a recon mission, apprentice Jaesa has gone silent, and all attempts to contact her have failed. It is up to Ishtaa to decide how to proceed. The fate of the war—and the life of her apprentice—hang in the balance…_

* * *

**Imperial HQ, Nar Shaddaa – Holo Room**

Ishtaa's expression grew continuously darker the longer she stared at the holo, her fingertips tightening on the armrests of her throne.

She suspected that the feeling was mutual. Ravage's voice had been rising steadily throughout the call. "The loyalty of all Hutt space is on the line. We cannot leave even a single gang standing. You cannot expect to put the Empire's plans on hold for the sake of one apprentice."

"I expect the Empire to obey the commands of its Emperor," she said coolly, "and by extension, his Wrath. Or have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?"

There was a static-filled pause, and Ravage visibly composed himself. His voice was more even, if gritted, when he continued. "The Council respects your authority as the Wrath insofar as you are serving the Emperor's wishes. But the battle for Hutt Space—"

"Was granted to me by the Dark Council." She raised an eyebrow. "If the council decides to go back on its decision, then that is your prerogative. But until such time as you suspend my command, I will continue to give orders as I see fit." Without another word, she cut out the holo, grimacing as the lights in the room came back to full strength.

She reached up to rub her temples, then remembered—a moment too late—that she had put on her Sith makeup before speaking with Ravage. She groaned audibly as she lowered her hands and saw the white base smeared on her fingertips.

She pushed one of the buttons concealed in the armrest. "2V, prepare a basin and towel in my quarters. I've had enough Sith politics for one day."

"Yes, master."

Moving carefully in the pleated, embroidered robes she saved for council calls, she stood and made her way across the room, making her way as quickly as she could without appearing undignified or damaging her skirts.

* * *

**Imperial HQ, Nar Shaddaa – Command Center**

"Sir…"

Quinn stooped over the civilian operator's shoulder to read the screen, then nodded, straightening.

"Very good. They'll need to replenish, but that shouldn't be a problem. Pass it along to Logistics."

"Captain."

Quinn looked up as someone called from across the room. One of the intelligence recruits was standing by the entrance, looking a little more disheveled than was necessary for his disguise.

He hurried to the recruit, almost knocking into one of the com mechanics carrying a box of tools the other way. He skirted around the woman, mumbling apologies, before continuing his beeline towards the entrance.

The recruit jumped into an energetic salute. Quinn waved it away with a perfunctory gesture. "Any luck?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not, sir. No trace of the apprentice or what might have happened to her. We made it close to the entrance, but they knew we were coming. Sensors, I think."

Quinn looked away in frustration. Ishtaa's anxiety was beginning to show, which could only mean the fear was getting to her. Such news wouldn't improve her spirits.

The recruit cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. "The rest of the team scattered," he continued, the briskness in his voice gone. "I had hoped some of the others would be back by now." His eyes cast about the room, no doubt searching for a familiar face.

Quinn tried to look reassuring.  _You're not the only one who's taking a toll_. "I'll inform the lookouts to keep their eyes open. And I'll have someone inform you when they return."

"Thank you, sir." The recruit made a feeble salute, then headed off in the direction of the infirmary—with a limp that Quinn hadn't picked up on before. As he reached the doorway, the recruit crossed paths with Vette. She looked to be coming from Ishtaa's quarters.

Quinn met her eyes across the room and shot her a questioning look.

She shook her head, a crease forming between her painted brows.

He sighed, bracing his hands on his hips. This wasn't going to be pretty. Nodding at Vette to indicate he had gotten her meaning, he made his way back through the maze of soldiers and civilians crossing paths or sitting in front of data screens.

* * *

He hesitated a little when he reached her door. He closed his eyes, forced himself to take a deep breath, think logically. This was where she would be most comfortable talking. It had been two years. He had done this a hundred times before. Logically, there was no reason he should feel any different than he did handing her a report in the com room, or the bridge of the  _Fury._

Logic didn't stop the pang of guilt twisting into his heart and lungs like a knife.

He knocked.

"Come in."

He opened the door slowly, eyes fixed on a tapestry that hung on the off-side of her room, just in case she wasn't fully dressed. He'd practically  _memorized_ that tapestry as of late.

He knew her mannerisms well enough to imagine the look that crossed her face when she saw who it was: some surprise, hope, concern, the mask of the Wrath that she always wore, a flicker of something he couldn't identify. "Quinn!" He didn't hear any protest in the way she said his name, so he assumed it was safe to look.

He turned. Sure enough, there was the look. She must have only just finished washing, because she was in a plain tunic and pants, her cheeks and bridge of her nose still bore the angry stripes of pink and red that flared up when she wasn't careful. It softened her, he noticed, made her look less the Emperor's Wrath and more the apprentice who had let him kiss her on the bridge—

"Has something happened?"

Her question jarred his train of thought.  _Focus_. Then it came back to him why he was here. He turned away, unable to watch when the glimmer of hope died in her eyes.

A hand gripped his arm. "Did they find her? Is she hurt?"

He forced himself to look at her. He had to reassure her somehow, and his words certainly weren't going to do it. "They weren't able to find anything new," he said, covering her hand with his before removing it from his arm. "The team got close to the complex, but they were chased off before they could get any intel."

Ishtaa let go of his hand. She nodded at him, understanding, but her eyes were no longer looking at him. Even as she crossed the room to sink into a chair, he could see that her thoughts were somewhere far away.

"I'm sorry we couldn't give you more to go on, my lord," he said. "Everyone is doing all they can."

"They're taking the command from me."

He looked at her in shock. "What?"

"They're taking my command back," she repeated, each word sounding very heavy as she said it. "The Dark Council thinks I'm not moving fast enough. Darth Ravage has just given me forty-eight hours to complete the mission, or the Council will step in for me. They intend—" her eyes refocused and she turned to look at him as she continued, "—to take out the entire complex in one fell swoop, without consideration for those still inside."

"But Jaesa is not just an Imperial. She's your apprentice. Nearly a dark lord of the Sith…"

"Apprentices die all the time," Ishtaa said flatly. "More often than not, because their masters killed them. If I tell them that I want to protect Jaesa…" She broke off abruptly. She lowered her eyes again. "But that's beside the point. The reality is that the Council is not entirely wrong. Whatever my feelings for her, however much I care, Jaesa is just one woman. It's not fair to the rest of the people fighting here— _dying_ here—to prolong the mission any more than I have to."

 _I'm sorry_. But the words died in Quinn's throat. His job was no longer to comfort her. He was her advisor and servant. Nothing more. "What do you plan to do?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."


	2. Plans and Tactics

**Black Veins Base – Nar Shaddaa**

Jaesa made herself as small and quiet as possible as she slipped down the hallway, careful not to let her boots make a sound.

She paused as she passed a door. Glancing up and down the hall nervously, she waved her hand in front of the lock, hoping that the Black Veins hadn't thought to protect against Force users.

The door slid open with an almost inaudible click. She held in her sigh of relief until she was inside; even after the door had closed, she kept it to a quiet  _huff_ of air that whispered out between her lips. It was only after she had gotten her heartbeat down to a reasonable rate that she thought to examine her surroundings.

Every inch of the walls was covered in circuit-boards and wires. Jaesa's heart gave a hopeful skip. Maybe one of the wires would let her access the Veins' secure communication lines, and contact Ishtaa. Her own com unit had cut out within minutes of her entering the compound. More worrisome, she hadn't had any luck reaching out to Ishtaa through the Force. It was like there was a bubble between the compound and the outside world, blocking out anything that wasn't in her immediate area.

She let out another puff of air and turned her attention to the tangle of wires that cluttered the nearest wall. She could only hope that, somewhere in the mess, there was a way to reach Imperial headquarters…and, if it was there, that she could  _find_ it.

 _If only Vette were here,_ she thought ruefully.

* * *

**Imperial HQ – Nar Shaddaa**

"My lord, we're picking up strange signals from the Black Veins base."

The com agent held out a headset. Ishtaa took it wordlessly and, after a few seconds of listening with pursed lips, handed it to Vette.

She closed her eyes as she held the speaker close to one of her ear cones.

"Anything?" Ishtaa asked.

Vette opened her eyes, looking uncharacteristically worried. "I can't tell. Maybe…" She paused before handing the headset back to the agent. "There's some sort of interference, coming from their end, but there's no pattern to it. Did Jaesa know any of our codes?"

Ishtaa shook her head. "She'd have no reason to," she said, crossing her arms. "Even if her com failed, we've always been able to communicate."

"My lord: we've got something."

Ishtaa and Vette turned to Quinn as he entered. He handed Ishtaa a datapad. She flicked through it quickly, eyes scanning the images—schematics, maps, circuit diagrams—too quickly to understand them.

She looked up when she had finished skimming. "Will it get us into their headquarters?"

"That's the hope. But it'll be risky."

Ishtaa met his gaze seriously. She nodded, and handed back the datapad. "Let's hear it."

Quinn connected the datapad to one of the unused screens in the middle of the room. The screen flickered for an instant, then a detailed blueprint of the Black Veins' base appeared.

"We've had several recon missions go awry because of sensors located around the perimeter of their base," Quinn said. "Every time one of our teams trips the sensor, the Black Veins send teams out to track down and kill the intruders. But we can use this to our advantage."

He pressed a button, and the screen suddenly lit up with a dozen flashing points of light around the perimeter of the base.

"This is one of their sensors," he said, pointing to one of the flashing points in the lower right corner. "We've discovered the location of about ten, and based on their distribution, we can predict where the remainder are likely to be. We also know that the Black Veins pay close attention to their sensors, and take action to prevent even the slightest intrusion."

"What are you suggesting?"

Quinn pushed another button, and several red squares moved in from all sides of the screen to land at the various points of light. "A diversion," he said, the red lights on the screen casting his face into sharp contrast. He reached out to follow one of the red squares with his finger. "We send in strike teams to different sensor regions. If we hit enough different areas, we can trick the Black Veins into thinking that their base is under a full-scale invasion." The red squares began to move away from the base's perimeter, quickly followed by a number of black circles. "The strike teams will wait long enough to give the impression of an attack, then flee in different directions. The Black Veins do not leave survivors. In the past, they've continued their pursuit for over an hour before giving up the chase. They will follow us, leaving the base with substantially less firepower than usual.

"While their attention and the majority of their troops are diverted, you and the Black Ops team can infiltrate through the undercity, and catch them by surprise. With luck, you'll be in the base and have Jaesa secured before they realize what we're up to."

"With luck," Ishtaa said skeptically. "And if they give up the pursuit?"

Quinn turned off the screen. "We will just have to keep them busy enough that they don't."

 _We_. She hesitated as his choice of words sank in. Then she felt a pang of guilt—it shouldn't matter whose life it was, the point was that she was putting lives if she chose to do this.

"My lord, your forty-eight hours are running out. This may be your last chance."

Ishtaa gripped her hands behind her back, stomach turning in knots.

Then, with a lump in her throat, she nodded. "Ready the troops. I'll inform the Council. We move in two hours."

* * *

**Black Veins Base – Nar Shaddaa**

Jaesa fumbled with the wires.

"Come on," she mumbled. " _Work."_

" _In here!"_

 _Oh no._ She whirled around just as the door opened, revealing four Black Veins guards with guns pointed directly at her.

_Stay Calm._

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose. There was the familiar tightness in her throat and chest as she held it...then,  _relief_ as she let it out through her teeth and lips in an audible sigh. Another deep breath, and she reached out in the Force to read the guards.

She immediately drew back, letting out a gasp as her eyes snapped open. Something was wrong…different.

Trying to control her pounding heart, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried again.

There was no mistaking it: this time the difference was overwhelming. It was more than the bubble she had felt earlier, shielding the compound. This was like nothing she had ever sensed before. It was… _nothing_.

 _Nothingness_.  _Emptiness_. Where she reached out to find others, to find Ishtaa, she met empty space. It was like taking a step in the dark and expecting to find another stair, only to find thin air.

It became too much…pure and total darkness pushing against the inside of her skull, the silence threatening to drive her mad.

Something hard jabbed against her ribcage. "Get up!" Another jab: she recognized it this time as the barrel of a blaster.

Blind fear overwhelmed her. She let out a cry of confusion and terror as she drew her lightsaber. There was no thought or fully-formed feeling as she leapt forward—just fear and adrenaline as she fought through her enemies, desperate to escape the crushing, unreadable nothingness.


	3. Assault on the Black Veins' Base

**TW for brief descriptions of blood and gore.**

**Chapter 3**

Vette peeked out from around the corner. It killed her to have to move so slowly, but if she tripped off the sensors before everyone was in position, it wouldn't matter if her idea worked: the others would be taken off-guard and killed.

It felt like several long minutes that she stood there watching, half-waiting and half-worrying that her eyes were going to start playing tricks on her and she would overreact to some nothing because she was so eager to see the signal. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out with an audible "tcha" through her teeth. She felt the tension in her stomach ease up, but only just.

_Must work better for mystical force types_ , she thought, smirking a little as she drummed her fingers on the holster. Something told her that if she tried half the meditation-balance-whatever exercises she caught Jaesa doing in the cargo hold she'd fall asleep in the first five minutes.

_Speaking of falling asleep_ …She was beginning to wonder what was taking so long. The signal should have gone off by now. Maybe something was broken. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe Quinn's brain finally exploded because he bottled everything up from the top end and the stick up his butt wouldn't let anything escape the other way, and they were cleaning up little bits of Quinn brain back at HQ.

_Ew._

Vette was startled out of her train of thought by a flash of red light before her eyes.  _That's the signal_. As she lurched out from her hiding place, one of her boots came undone. She tumbled forward with a yelp, and would have fallen flat on her face if she hadn't thrown her hands out first.

A klaxon horn started blaring.

"Shit," she muttered, scrambling to get up from her hands and knees while reaching for the tangle of wires and boards she had shoved into her hip pouch. Somehow, the relevant parts always managed to find their way to the bottom of her bag. She kept searching as she hurried towards the nearest power station.  _Come on, where are you?_ There was a flash of metallic blue from the far left edge of the pouch. "A- _ha_."

She perched the wires she had already grabbed between her lips while her deft fingers worked to remove the cover panel from the power station. She glanced over her shoulder—no guards. She kept peeking as she pushed the chip into position and drew the first wire from between her teeth, not bothering to look at the board while she did the basics.  _Power. Ground._

Now she really had to concentrate. She took one last look around before turning her attention to the wiring in front of her. She squinted, her tongue poking out of her mouth just slightly. One wire in the wrong place and her plan wouldn't work.

"Almost…there…"

"Hey!"

Vette's head snapped up. She managed to contain her gasp of surprise, but the remaining wire fell from her mouth. "Oh, hey…mister," she said awkwardly. "Just doin' some repairs."

The guard drew a blaster. "Hands where I can see 'em, rat-tail."

She made a show of moving slowly and deliberately, lingering behind the door of the power station long enough to discreetly grab a wrench from her belt.

She jumped as the guard fired a warning shot past her head. "I said  _hands up_."

Another shot rang out. This time Vette screamed, screwing her eyes up and flinching, waiting for a bolt of searing pain wherever the blast struck her. When none came, she opened her eyes a fraction.

The guard lay on the ground, fingers twitching slightly. Quinn fired another round directly into the base of the guard's skull. He stopped twitching.

Quinn turned his irritated gaze to her. "What part of 'trip the sensors and hurry to the repulsor-car at the rendezvous point' was unclear?"

"I had an idea," she said, regaining her senses and returning her attention to the wiring. "It's really simple, I'm almost done."

His scowl deepened. "You couldn't have mentioned this during the tactical meeting we had  _specifically_ to discuss ways into the compound?"

Vette put the finishing touches on the wires—making sure they were fastened—and closed the station door with a slam. "It wouldn't have gotten us in by itself, but it should buy Ishtaa and her team more time even if the Veins do decide to turn around on us." She closed up the pouch. "Let's go."

The two of them set off at a jog across the roof, vaulting over barriers as they made their way from building to construction platform to building.

"All the same, you can't just make these decisions out of the blue! You should have warned the other teams, at the very least."

She scoffed as best as she could while panting. "'Oh, hi there, I'm Admiral Malcontent,'" she said in a mocking imitation of Quinn's accent. "'I do paperwork and change battle plans at the last minute, but only when it suits  _me_.'"

Quinn came to an abrupt stop, gesturing at her in frustration. "You…" He gritted his teeth. "Just get in the car," he snapped, getting in the driver side and slamming the door with a huff.

"You're wearing a safety belt?"

His voice darkened. " _Vette…"_  he said warningly.

"Fine, fine." She clambered over the backseat to get in on the passenger side. She slid into the seat, falling hard on her rump when Quinn started the car and accelerated abruptly.

She started fidgeting with buttons almost immediately. Quinn smacked at her hand when she tried to move his mirror. "Ow, yeesh. Why do you get to drive?" she asked.

" _I_ have a license," he said pointedly.

_You wouldn't know it from the way he drives_ , she thought as they made their way up into the main thoroughfares, weaving in and out of traffic in a series of hairpin turns with very little warning—precise, but close enough that it would have left her hair standing on end if she had any. She cried out as they breezed past an oncoming cab, missing its sides by centimeters, the sound of an artificial voice cursing in Huttese coming in high as it approached and then sweeping out to low until it was drowned out by the rest of the city's sounds.

"Who taught you to drive?" she shouted, her voice almost lost in the cacophony of traffic and sound.

"Just focus on the Veins," he shouted back. "I've spotted at least one on our tail, there's got to be more by now."

She turned around.

"I see them." She narrowed her eyes, focusing. "That blue one's with them too."

"Well, we can keep two busy as easily as—what are you doing?"

Vette climbed over the back of her seat into the back. She paused there, powering on the electromagnet she had stashed in her pouch. "Joyride," she said. And she stepped onto the back of the vehicle, balancing as she made her way towards the tail end of the vehicle.

"Oh, for the love of—" The rest of his words were lost as she leapt from their vehicle onto the top of the cab just behind them.

The driver droid craned its head out the driver side window to see what the commotion was. "What is the meaning of this?" it asked indignantly. "This is an Imperial vehicle, you can't just…"

Vette smashed the electromagnet against the side of the droid's head. It shook with electricity for a few seconds before slumping against the wheel, defunct.

She wrinkled her nose as she opened the door and slid inside, pushing the remains of the protocol droid into the passenger seat. She could still hear them sizzling, and a little bit of smoke was starting to escape from the chest compartment. "Don't let me fall asleep at the wheel," she wheezed. Shutting out the smell, she started to examine the buttons on the dashboard. The vehicle hadn't started to decelerate or change direction when she killed the droid, which meant…

_Autopilot…off._

There was a shudder and a mechanical grinding sound as the manual drive took over. Then the lights shifted to a faint purple.

"Auto-pilot off. Manual drive engaged."

"Finally." She pushed her foot down on the accelerator and pulled up on the steering wheel hard. Her lekku dangled towards the ceiling as the car turned upside down and right-side up again, and she let out a whoop of joy as she sped down the thoroughfare in the opposite direction from Quinn.

* * *

Ishtaa signaled to the men behind her to halt, as she stepped deliberately forward, extending her senses outward in anticipation as she approached the base. Any moment now, the sensors would trip, and she would sense the frenzy of guards being sent their way.

Instead she met a wall of…nothing.

Frowning, she lowered her hood. Unable to see in the Force, she would have to rely on what she could see with her eyes—peripherals included. She turned to face the soldiers with her. "Something's wrong," she said. "Be on your guard."

There was a murmur of "yes, m'lords." She noticed some of the soldiers hefting their weapons a little higher, closer to the ready, before she turned back around to face the compound. She took a deep breath through her nose. At least now she knew why Jaesa hadn't been reaching her.

It became more and more clear, the closer she got to the entrance: something, or someone, was blocking her ability to see things in the Force. Inspiration struck her. Wiggling her gloved fingers experimentally, she reached out her right hand towards the door and willed it to move aside.

With a shriek of crushing, tearing metal, the material of the door was pushed aside, and she could see inside the compound. At that, her frown only deepened. She looked around warily as she edged past the remains of the security door. Still no sign of guards. Unexpected, but at least it was a pleasant surprise for once.

She reached down to her belt. "Turn off your radios," she ordered in a low voice. "We seem to have gotten in undetected. Let's keep it that way." No doubt Quinn would be frantic should he notice the radio silence, but it was a necessary deviation from the plan.

She ordered her men with hand signals to move in pairs towards the heart of the building, and to take cover where they could find it, then she continued her way forward in determined silence. _Jaesa, where are you?_

* * *

Quinn grimaced as he took a sharp turn, the sudden change in velocity throwing him against the door. These Black Veins were good, he had to give them that. When he made it back to base, he would have to dispatch some requests to Intelligence. There was no way these thugs had learned to operate so smoothly without some sort of official training.

A burst of shattering glass and blaster fire jarred him from his train of thought. Instinctively, he ducked, craning his neck to see behind him through the gap between passenger and driver sides.

One of the Black Veins was leaning out of the red vehicle, sniper rifle pointed directly at Quinn's car.

He cursed under his breath as he fumbled to draw his blaster without taking both hands off the steering wheel. It was surprisingly difficult to do while keeping his head down and one foot on the accelerator.  _Why couldn't Vette have stayed put like she was supposed to?_ But there was no use lamenting his state now. He would just have to make do, firing and driving at the same time.

He flinched as the Veins got off another shot, this one missing his head by only a few inches before glancing off the dashboard.

Glowering darkly, he straightened up and turned around to fire rapidly at the Veins' windows. One, two, three shots found their mark…but only the last made any dent in the integrity of their vehicle, destroying an electro-shield he hadn't known was there and forming a single, shallow crack down the far right side of the windscreen.

He ducked down as they began to return fire. He let out a startled cry as the front of his car collided with the vehicle alongside him, rocking the whole vehicle and making a tremendous  _crunch_ as metal smashed against metal. He barely heard the next series of shots that  _zinged_ over his head.

When he looked up, the front windshield was gone too, only a few corners of jagged, broken glass left to show for it.

He began to look around desperately. There had to be another car—somewhere, anywhere, someone that had been in their original party that he could jump to.

Then, from overhead, there came a loud, obnoxious honk.

He looked up to see a pair of mischievous lavender eyes looking down at him from the open passenger side of the blue car that had been tailing them earlier.

"Get in!" she shouted.

Another round of fire whizzed past his head. "And how do you propose I do that?" he roared back, irate.

She tossed something down to him and he caught it without thinking. He squinted at it, processing for several seconds before he realized exactly what Vette intended him to do with a palm-sized electromagnet.

"You're insane!" he shouted.

"You got any better ideas?" she yelled back.

He clenched his jaw for a moment before he relented. "Alright," he said, still shouting over the whistle of the wind this high up. "But you're going to have to hold them off. I'll be an open target dangling from your car like that."

Vette reached inside the car to push a button he couldn't see. "No problem," she said airily. And with that, she drew both of her blasters and began firing at the red car behind them.

Breathing out sharply through his teeth, Quinn took one last deeply suspicious look at the magnet in his hand. Then before he could think better of it, he powered it on and launched himself up towards Vette's car, screwing his eyes shut so he wouldn't see how high they were. It wasn't until he had been hanging there for a couple of seconds that he dared to open his eyes.

He immediately wished he hadn't.

He turned his gaze upwards, concentrating on hoisting his legs up to hook onto the chassis, trying not to think about the way they had just been dangling hundreds of feet above the nearest surface. He grunted, his arms and abdomen protesting with the strain.

A chirpy voice floated to him on the biting wind. "How're we doing down there?"

He let out a yell of surprise as one of the Veins managed to take a shot that flew past the place where his legs had been just seconds ago. "I'll be better once I'm not being shot at! Shut up and keep them busy!"

"That's the idea!"

Furrowing his brow in concentration, he began inching his way towards the driver side door. He had gotten far enough to brush the handle with the toe of his boot that a problem dawned on him. "I can't open it from this end!"

"Blahh-ahh…" Vette made a dismayed noise. He could hear her struggling to keep pace in the exchange of fire. Finally, she managed to get off several rounds in very quick succession. One of them must have found its mark, because he heard a cry of pain from the red vehicle. Seconds later, Vette was extending an arm out the driver-side door. He took it gratefully, using his abdomen to raise himself as high as he could so he didn't accidentally pull the tiny Twi'lek girl out into the open air. After a few seconds of struggle, he fell into the driver's seat, where he promptly slammed the door and sagged into the chair in relief.

"Obliged," he said, gasping.

"Thank me later," she said. "Even if this is technically theirs, they'll lose patience eventually. We've got to lose these guys before they decide to damage  _this_  car too. Switch sides."

He didn't protest as she forced her way into the driver's seat, too exhausted to complain. He winced as he crawled into the passenger seat; in all the adrenaline, he had failed to notice how many new bruises and cuts he was forming, clinging to the bottom of the car like that.

It took him a few seconds to process what Vette had said. "Wait, what do you mean lose them? We can't. We have to keep them busy, that was the whole plan. Ishtaa—"

"Can take care of herself. Or she could, if I hadn't already taken care of it myself."

Realization dawned on Quinn. "That thing you did at the power station…"

"All sensors have some sort of filter to weed out noise. Otherwise they'd be checking them all the time over stray rats and whatnot. I just added a little feedback and some other stuff to raise the bar for what their security system considers an 'intrusion.'" She grinned. "As far as the Black Veins are concerned, Ishtaa's entry to the building should look like regular old noise."

"Brilliant." The compliment came out unchecked. He colored at the startled look on Vette's face. "Sorry," he said. "Any suggestions on how we lose them? I'm all out of ideas. They know the entire Imperial playbook."

"Well, then, it's lucky that alley rats don't have a 'playbook.'" She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. "If you're going to wear that safety belt, strap in now. I'm not big on traffic laws."

* * *

The compound was unnervingly quiet. It had been at least two minutes walking, and they still hadn't met any resistance.

Ishtaa was almost relieved when they rounded a corner and found a pair of guards standing watch over a sealed door.

The two didn't stand a chance. They didn't even have time to finish shouting "intruder" before she brushed them aside with an irritated sweep of her hand. The larger of the two—the one on the right—slammed into the other, sandwiching him against the wall. They both groaned blearily. Before they could recover their senses, Ishtaa reached out in the Force again, molding her hands as if holding a ball. She turned it sharply in her hands, and the two guards were thrown up in the air and onto their backs, before she crossed her arms into an 'x' and knocked their heads together.

The pair stayed on the floor. Ishtaa shook her head as one of her men raised his blaster. She pushed the barrel away. "No," she said. "They may have information." She looked behind her. "You two, restrain them before they regain consciousness. Watch them. See to their head injuries. No sense questioning them if their brains have been addled."

"Yes, milord."

"The rest of you: with me."

* * *

Quinn's surroundings became more and more unfamiliar, until they were speeding through a part of Nar Shaddaa he had never seen before.

"Where are we going?"

"One of the factory districts."

He appraised her with wide eyes. "There aren't any sky-lanes in the factory districts. Just passages for the export vehicles and walkways for the workers."

"Bingo."

He could see it now. They were coming up on a massive warehouse, its doors the size of a two-story building.

"No, no, bad idea. Vette!"

"Too late."

They were through the doors. What followed was a mad series of turns and spins as Vette ungracefully maneuvered the vehicle through the alleys and narrow streets between worker tenements. She seemed to be taking more care to avoid the workers than the walls; more than once, Quinn felt his teeth chatter as some part of the car scraped against concrete.

And then they were passing through a small causeway, through yet another pair of doors. Quinn distracted himself from how close they came to the enormous vats and searing furnaces by looking over his shoulder. He was flabbergasted to see the red vehicle, still dogging their every turn.

"They're still on us."

"Not for long."

Up ahead, a massive valve was spewing red-hot gas in bursts towards the ceiling. Every few seconds, the flow of gas would stop…and then start up again in an audible rush of heat.

Realizing what Vette was planning to do—and realizing there was no talking her out of it—Quinn braced himself, fingers gripping the edge of his seat tightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vette's knuckles pale and tight on the steering wheel.

He couldn't help but close his eyes as they passed over the lip of the valve. A few seconds later, he felt and heard a rush of heat at his back. He opened his eyes and turned around.

The red car swerved to miss the vent, but in doing so spun out of control. He watched with a grim set to his jaw as the vehicle swung madly around in circles before crashing into the side of a chemical vent.

He winced, but even his disgust couldn't stop his stomach doing backflips of exhilaration and relief. He turned back to Vette, a grin breaking across his features in spite of himself. He let out a nervous laugh. Her smile was even shakier than his, if possible.

"That was…unexpected."

She let out a breath. "Come on. Let's get back to the base. Hopefully some of the others were lucky too."

* * *

Ishtaa moved through the few guards that remained easily. It took only a few graceful swings of her lightsaber to take care of them before the soldiers behind her could botch the job.

_More survivors, more potential resources, more information_ , she reminded herself. The Dark Council always wanted an explanation for these sorts of things, as Vowrawn had taken to reminding her. But the thought was only a reflex that flickered briefly at the back of her mind before her eyes skimmed the room, searching for some sign of Jaesa. Instead she spotted two Veins, who were smart enough to run rather than fight.

They shouted something in frantic Huttese as they sprinted headlong through the doorframe into a large room. A set of heavy metal doors slid shut behind them, bolting with a dark  _thud_  just before Ishtaa could reach it.

She kicked the door with a small grunt of annoyance. She turned to the soldiers. "These security doors must be the main hub," she said briskly. "Fan out. The room's small enough, I can take care of anyone that's in here. Find my apprentice. Keep an eye out for guards. Get them out of the way, but  _try_  not to eviscerate them," she added, with a touch of irritation. "They're not worth the ammunition."

A chorus of "yes, milords," and the men were off. Ishtaa drew her other lightsaber and ignited it.  _Please be in here,_ she thought, then she sank both blades into the door and pulled with all her might.

The metal was even sturdier than she had expected. The work was slow and torturous. The blades moved so slowly that the molten steel at the top had started to congeal by the time she neared the bottom.

When she was an inch from the base of the door, she heard blaster fire being exchanged a few rooms away. Her patience ran out. She violently removed the sabers from the door, turned them off, and launched a Force-kick at the arch she had been carving. The remaining inches of metal snapped off with a deafening  _CRACK_ , and Ishtaa threw herself through the doorway into a somersault.

She was immediately met by gunfire. Instinct took over. She deflected the first wave of blasts in one turn of her lightsaber. She saw two, three, five Veins fall in quick succession, wailing as they fell to the ground clutching their respective wounds. Turning her attention to the remainder, she leapt over the balustrade of consoles, knocking out the gangster who had been standing there. She made quick work of the two next to him, removing their arms before they could fire at her again.

Against the far wall, she saw three of the Veins standing in close formation. Reaching out, she swept them into each other like dominos that clattered against the left wall. She turned away, grinning slightly at her work, to see only one guard remaining in the center of the room.

He looked to be on the verge of wetting himself. He threw his hands up, thoughtlessly dropping his gun in the hurry to surrender, clear blue eyes wide beneath a tanned, sweaty brow. It dawned on Ishtaa, judging by the lines of his face, that he could very well be a family man, just trying to make ends meet. She knocked him out with a weary sigh, putting him into a deep sleep with a wave of her hand. She had never been very good at mind tricks, but it would have to do, and he didn't look like the sort to try and attack her again.

She had more pressing matters to attend to.

She deignited her lightsaber to silence it, but held it at the ready as she proceeded into the hallway. Something was wrong. Someone else had gotten here before she had.

There was blood smeared across the floor, and droplets spattered on the walls. She brushed one of them with the tips of her gloved fingers and held them up to the light, where they shone. _Recent_. Whoever it was, they were still here.

And whoever it was, they had been utterly without mercy. Ishtaa could feel her stomach twisting and gnawing itself as she looked upon the bodies strewn along her path, some of them maimed beyond recognition. Some of the wounds were clearly from a lightsaber—cauterized, not bleeding. But others…it was as if parts of the victims' bodies had been crushed, or crushed  _outwards_ from the inside.

There was a noise from up ahead.

Ishtaa raised her lightsaber. She heard the sound again: a quiet rustle of cloth against cement floor. "Who's there?" she called out.

Then, all at once, the wall of nothing she had felt since entering the building collapsed, like sheet of water released by a dam, droplets seeming to dissolve as they fell from before her eyes. And where the nothing had been, a new wall flew out at her like a shockwave: a flood of rage and pain and regret that knocked the air out of her lungs.

She heard a painfully familiar sob.

Her stomach plummeted. "Jaesa…"

She raced down the remainder of the hall, bracing herself against the door when she reached it, looking around the room—the command center, she figured dimly—searching for the source of the noise. It wasn't until she heard another broken noise that she thought to look down.

She staggered over to where Jaesa sat with her knees pulled up to her chest. She almost wished the wall of nothing would come back: she could feel Jaesa's pain pouring into her, throbbing in her legs like a physical wound. She crouched down, lowering herself to Jaesa's level.

She repeated Jaesa's name, reaching out to touch her arm.

" _Don't_." Jaesa's voice came out sharp and hard. Ishtaa could hear the edges of her tears like broken glass. "Don't touch me."

It was then that Ishtaa realized Jaesa was spattered with blood.

She stared at her apprentice in stunned silence, struggling to process the sight before her. Injured—no, Jaesa was fine. Or, well, she wasn't physically hurt. "What happened?" she asked, reeling.

Jaesa's voice choked. "There was…this feeling. I tried to reach out to you. For days, I was stuck here and I tried to find you. Pierce. Vette. Anyone. But I couldn't…I couldn't feel  _anything_. I couldn't find you." She broke down in sobs again.

This time, she accepted Ishtaa's hand on her arm, and after a few seconds, let her pull her into an embrace. She sat there, tears mixing with a horrible shaking that Ishtaa could feel.

When she managed to speak again, her voice was thick with snot and ugly tears that had gone on too long to keep coming out. "When they found me, I didn't know what to do. I tried to reach out again, to find something to use, to reason with them, but I couldn't feel anything. I was so…cold. I couldn't think. I didn't think. I just…" And as if a new dam had burst, she broke into fresh tears, a touch of hysteria entering her voice. "I killed them all," she said, half speech and half wail. "All of them. I killed…Oh no.  _No_." After that, Ishtaa couldn't make out another word.

Ishtaa raised the girl's chin, forcing her apprentice to look up at her. "Jaesa…Jaesa, look at me," she said sternly. Feeling a brief stab of guilt, she found herself prodding into Jaesa's mind, using what little skill with mind tricks she had to quiet the girl's horror for a moment. "You did nothing wrong," she said firmly. "You didn't know  _what_ you were doing from the sound of it. And if you had, you were defending yourself. These men would have tried to kill you if you hadn't cooperated. I'm certain of it."

"But I didn't have to," Jaesa whispered. "I could have let them go. I could have just defended myself and left. Or I could have just blocked their attacks. I didn't have to—I  _murdered_ them."

"No, you didn't," said Ishtaa. "You didn't have to kill them. But neither did you murder them. Murder is a choice. You weren't trying to slaughter them. You were scared. And with practice, and time, we will work to overcome those feelings in the future, so they do not overwhelm you." She ran her thumb across Jaesa's cheek. "But do not let your guilt overwhelm you as well." She kissed her apprentice's forehead quietly. "Come on. Let's get you to a healer."

Too tired to fight back, Jaesa reluctantly draped her arm over Ishtaa's shoulder, and the two women limped together back the way they had come. When they met with the group of soldiers—who now had almost two dozen prisoners in tow—Ishtaa handed Jaesa off to two of the kinder-looking soldiers.

"See that she's tended to," she ordered.

"Yes, sir."

One of the lieutenants approached Ishtaa. "Orders, sir?"

"Take these prisoners back and call everyone out in the field back to HQ. And inform the Dark Council that Hutt Space is now under Imperial control."

The troops around her cheered.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: TW for blood and death. MILD SPOILER WARNING for Shadow of Revan, though it's really only a borrowed element from the very beginning of the expansion.**

**Chapter Four**

Quinn stood at parade rest in silence, doing his best to blend in alongside Broonmark and Pierce in the shadows, while Ishtaa spoke to Darth Vowrawn.

"The Black Veins have been defeated," she said. "The gangs of Hutt space should present no further problems for the Empire."

He laughed. "Well done! I can't wait to see the look on Ravage's face when he realizes you've actually accomplished the thing. He thought he was being so clever, giving you such a short deadline. He'll be absolutely sputtering."

"Is he ever  _not_ sputtering?"

Vowrawn chuckled. "True enough. Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you have business to attend to before your departure—Emperor's Wrath and all that. I shall see you when you return to Korriban."

"It'll be good to see you in person, old man. It's been too long."

"Indeed it has. Until then, Wrath."

Quinn caught a glimpse of Ishtaa's face in profile as the holo flickered before going dark. He felt the corners of his mouth turning upwards and the weight that had been on his chest the entire time they'd been in Hutt Space lifted slightly. For the first time in a very long time, he saw a genuine smile untainted by worry or doubt on Ishtaa's face, lighting up the crinkles under her eyes and the apples of her cheeks in a way that he'd missed without realizing it.

The moment evaporated as the main lights came up and 2V came into the room, his joints whirring and his metallic voice much louder and brighter than it needed to be.

"My lord, you've received an anonymous invitation to a gala in the pleasure district this evening."

Ishtaa raised an eyebrow at the droid. "Anonymous? I assume you've done your research."

"Yes, my lord. A quick scan of the extranet found that the penthouse listed on the invitation is home to one of the wealthiest residents of Nar Shaddaa: a well-known former socialite named Kara Suress. Since her second husband died, she's become one of the most prolific donors to political campaigns all over neutral space."

Quinn crossed his arms. "No doubt some lowly politician is hoping to be seen in your presence, to gain power by association."

"Most likely," Ishtaa admitted. "But I am curious how they got this ship's frequency. It's supposed to be private." She turned to 2V. "Tell the sender that I will be there. Plus one." She glanced at Quinn. "You're coming with me," she said. "Be ready to go in four hours. Dress uniform. Make sure you're armed. They'll expect one of us to have a weapon."

"You're not bringing your lightsaber?"

"No, I will. But I don't want the other attendees to figure that out unless I have to use it." On that note, she turned and glided from the room, leaving Quinn to puzzle out the logistics of  _how_ one would conceal a lightsaber in the sort of dress women usually wore to Nar Shaddaa parties.

* * *

Jaesa was floating, flying. She could feel, distantly, that her knees were still planted firmly on the cold metal floor of the  _Fury_ , but the rest of her was skimming across the stars, a million spheres of warm light that parted and reformed as she passed through them.

Then, the edges of her vision started disappearing. She strained her eyes, trying to make out whatever was so hard to see in the distance. It was only when the darkness spread that she realized she was looking into an abyss.

One by one, the stars died out, until all her field of vision was empty. It was blacker than black. She felt her heart pounding. The bottom of her stomach dropped out as she realized she had nothing to stand on. She flailed wildly, desperate to find something to hold on to. But there was nothing  _to_ move. Her hands, her arms, her body—anything she might have used to cling to safety—they were all gone. Everything was absent.

Then her vision returned, and she found herself watching helplessly as a pair of binary stars died out, one and then the other, the entire surface going dark until there was nothing left except wispy coronas of light that soon dissipated into the vacuum.

The vision shifted again. Dromund Kaas turned hollow. The streets were empty except for the whistling of the wind. Even the rains had died, leaving nothing but a cold gray fog that shuddered over the city's remnants.

She was standing on a cloud, she realized. Her body had returned. She could move again. She glided through the city, each footstep taking her miles and miles further than it should. She looked down. In her horror, she felt the floor of the city rising up to meet her, coming closer and closer until the fear flooded her vision and she could no longer look away.

The street was strewn with bodies—some bloodied, others untouched, but all contorted into unnatural angles such that they couldn't be anything but dead.

She felt a horrified scream rise in her throat, but it had no place to leave; her mouth was gone. All she could do was gaze upon the scene before her, tears rising in burning waves that couldn't capture the horror she wanted to pour out of her throat and never feel again.

Everyone was dead. Her parents. Master Yonlach. Nomen Karr. Broonmark. Pierce. Vette. Quinn. And there, in the center, just a few feet away…

"Jaesa."

She awoke abruptly, gasping. She threw her hands over her mouth as she realized she was whole, she could breathe and scream and let all of the horrors out. She let herself collapse inwards, crumpling to the floor of the Fury, her hands still pressed firmly over her mouth to mute the frail, almost silent screams that flowed out.

She felt a warm arm draped around her back. Warm fingers bracing around her left shoulder. "Jaesa, you're safe. It's going to be alright. You're here. I'm here. You're not harmed. You're not going to be harmed. I've got you."

They sat there for a few moments, Ishtaa tracing her fingertips soothingly over Jaesa's back.

When she finally found the strength to push through the tremors that made her teeth chatter, her voice was dark. "I had a vision." She turned to look at Ishtaa. "There was a galaxy neighboring our own and then…nothing. The stars died. My parents died. The crew died. Yonlach, Nomen Karr,  _you_ , everyone was dead." Her voice shook. "The entire galaxy was gone. And I watched it happen. The end of everything."

She felt Ishtaa's fingernails scraping lightly through her tunic. It had started to become irritating rather than comforting. "It was just a dream," she said. "You were shaken by what happened in the Black Veins' lair. Fear can make strange visions appear to anyone."

"It was  _real_!" Jaesa insisted. She yanked away from Ishtaa's embrace and stood up, agitated. She stormed across the room, only to brace herself against a nearby wall, one arm looped over her head. "I felt it. Whatever I saw…" She trailed off.

She sensed Ishtaa stand up behind her. Her master held back, scared to approach.

_Scared she might hurt me further. I'm scaring her. She thinks there's something wrong with me._

Jaesa let out an audible breath through her teeth.  _Control your fear. You must control your fear, before it hurts the people around you._

She turned away from the wall. "Forgive me, master. I…I don't know what's gotten into me. I'll try to control my feelings more carefully."

"I…" Ishtaa hesitated. Jaesa sensed her holding back but wanting to reach forward, torn between carrying her apprentice and giving her space. She saw her master's fingers twitch and draw back, then she spoke. "Alright. Get some rest. You look like you need it."

"I will, master." She bowed and started to leave.

"Jaesa…"

She turned to face Ishtaa. "Yes, master?"

Ishtaa looked distinctly uncomfortable, but with some effort, she managed to force the words she wanted to say to come out. "I am here for you," she said stiffly. "I may not always offer the wisest counsel…but I am here for you. Always."

For a split second, Jaesa considered staying to tell Ishtaa about everything—the overwhelming terror that she'd been unable to control, the cycle it created of fear and then  _more_ fear, the fear that she wouldn't be able to control it.

But Ishtaa had enough worries as it was. She could sense the tension on her master's shoulders, even after it had diminished in the wake of their successful mission. Her once-steady, radiant aura had become heavy over the last two years. She could count the individual storm clouds that swirled across her master's surface day after day. The pressure of balancing her duties to the Empire with trying to change it from within. The strain of constantly losing lives, sending men to die for her cause. The loss of her parents. The fierce ache that had troubled her since just before Corellia.

"Thank you, master," Jaesa said quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Quinn knocked timidly.

"Come in."

He pushed the button to open the door and stepped into the room.

"2V wishes to inform you that the car has arrived, my lord. We—" The words died out with a slightly strangled sound that stuck in his throat. For a few seconds, all he could do was gape.

Stepping past the privacy screen that partially shielded her dresser from view at the door was like lifting a veil. One moment he was looking at the harsh metallic shapes of the Fury's rooms, the next he was transfixed by the way Ishtaa's hair fell in loose curls over her creamy white shoulders.

She met his gaze in the mirror, eyes startlingly green against the soft gray makeup that framed them. "Quinn?" she asked curiously.

He rubbed his eyes, averting his gaze suddenly. "Yes, I…am ready to leave whenever you are, my lord." He bowed stiffly and started to leave. But the warmth in his chest got the better of him. He stopped and turned to face her. The first time he opened his mouth to speak, his courage failed him. Even the second time, his voice started thin. "You…you look lovely, by the way."

She had been standing up when he spoke. She froze for a moment before straightening fully, surprise clear on her face. "Oh! Um…" She tucked one of the curls behind her ear. Quinn found himself tracing the movement in his mind's eye, remembering how wonderful and comforting it felt when the soft strands slipped through his fingers. "Thank you." She cleared her throat and smoothed out her dress, turning back to look in the mirror. He hadn't even noticed what she was wearing until she had moved, causing the skirt to glow like it was stitched with embers.

It would doubtless be fearsome to the partygoers who saw her as Sith, the great Emperor's Wrath, when she glided into the room. But it couldn't draw his attention for very long. His eyes kept returning to the little details of her face and hair and body, things that none of the partygoers would be around long enough to see. And he was going to make a fool of himself if he stayed around much longer.

He made a sharp about-face and started to leave a second time.

This time, she was the one who stopped him.

"Quinn."

He looked at her eagerly.

She smiled, but it was half a cringe. Still, the corners of her eyes crinkled. "Your hair is sticking up again."

He flushed. He didn't even have to ask. He knew  _exactly_ what lock of hair she was referring to and he started smoothing it down. She caught his wrist in her small hands.

"Don't," she laughed. "There's no point. It'll be sticking up again in half an hour anyway." She grinned. "Besides, we're on Nar Shaddaa. Blend in a little." She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, mussing it up. Quinn had to fight to keep his eyelids from closing, and to conceal the shiver went down his neck.

He pushed her hands away before he did something foolish. "Thank you, but I would still like to look somewhat like an Imperial officer." He peeked in her mirror and straightened the worst, but not all, of the damage. Clearing his throat, he extended an elbow. "Shall we?"

* * *

Vette crossed her arms as the shop owner tried to persuade her, for the fourth time, that anything less than two thousand credits would be robbing him blind.

" _Good part, good bargain_ ," he said, yellow eyes gleaming from beneath a hood that barely peeked over the top of the counter, even with a stepstool. " _Two thousand is the best I can offer._ "

She stood firm. "Give me access to the right parts and I could build my own hyperspace coupling for half that." She put her credit chips down on the counter. "Fifteen hundred. And that's  _it_."

The Jawa grumbled unintelligibly in protest, but he took the chips nonetheless. " _You alley rats drive a hard bargain_ ," he said. Vette could have sworn there was a twinkle of respect in his amber eyes. " _Fine. I'll give it to you. But only because I know she'll be going to a good ship._ " He handed her a parcel, already wrapped. " _Utini!_ "

She took the package. " _Utini_  to you too," she said, and she walked out of the store. On her way out, she noticed a dreadlocked man studying her with some interest, but he turned his gaze away in a hurry when he saw her looking at him, and made his way to the counter. She heard the beginnings of what sounded to be a heated argument as she left.

" _You again?!_ " the Jawa squawked.

She was smiling as she made her way out of the shop, and she stopped a couple of blocks away from the shop entrance to check her package before she left with it. She leaned against a nearby wall and slit open the top of the parcel so she could look inside. The Jawa was true to his word: it was a fine part, in good condition—if used—and more importantly, it didn't have the imprint of a standard Imperial make. Despite's Quinn's repeated insistences to the contrary, mass-made Imperial parts didn't pack the same punch as a Corellian or custom make. Using different models made repairs a little more difficult, but even Captain Stuffy-pants was grateful for the extra kick of speed or firepower she could squeeze out of the  _Fury_  when push came to shove.

She was re-sealing the parcel when a shadow fell over her.

"Well, what do we have here?" Her head snapped up to see a trio of thugs, all looking at her with the same greedy look in their eyes.

She scowled back at them. "More than you bargained for." She started to reach for her blaster, but she had no sooner made the motion than two of the thugs had weapons pointed at her face.

The one not holding a weapon, who seemed to be their leader, chuckled. "Easy, rat-tail. We don't want to hurt you. We just want your money and whatever's in that package there you're carrying." He drew his blaster slowly, and casually pointed it between her eyes. "We'll also want you to put down those blasters."

Vette was just about to retort with something clever, something just unexpected enough to make the thugs look at each other so she could disarm them, when a voice rang out down the street.

"Is there a problem here?"

The leader and one of his thugs turned to face the newcomer, who'd brought a blaster of his own. It was the opening Vette needed.

Letting out a shout, she dropped down below the blaster's aim and kicked the thug's knees out from under him, yanking the blaster from his hands as he went down.

The other two returned their attention to her. "What the—?"

She jumped up as the leader turned. She grabbed his wrists to stop him from firing, and quickly kneed him in the groin. When he crumpled, she took the blaster from his hands and whacked him over the head with it.

Turning around, she noticed that the first thug was starting to recover, groaning as he got to his feet. She fired a shot into his kneecap. He fell back to where he had started, shrieking and whimpering as he clutched his wounded leg. Then she turned her attention to the second thug and the newcomer.

It was the dreadlocked man from the store, and he had the other man in a headlock. She watched in dumbfounded shock for a minute, watching the two grapple awkwardly, before she decided she'd had enough.

"Hey, ugly!"

Both men looked up.

She shot at the thug's rear end, the only part of his body safely out of the way of the newcomer. The dreadlocked man let go as the thug stumbled backwards with a howl, clutching his behind and whining.

A blow from the blunt end of her pistol stopped the whining. She stared at her handiwork for a few seconds to make sure they were all down, then stowed her weapons, breathing hard. The dreadlocked man was out of breath as well.

She gave him a funny look. "How do you start a fight with two guns and end up wrestling?" she asked.

He brushed his hands off, squinting at her. "Pardon?" She noticed now that his voice had the distinctive drawl of a backwater planet. Somehow, it didn't surprise her.

"Usually when people have weapons, they use them."

The man's brow furrowed. "I'd like to see you fire off a true shot at ten feet with some guy running at you."

"You just did," she said. "Twice. And at less than ten feet, now that I think about it."

The man looked absolutely baffled. "Isn't the usual response when somebody saves you to say 'thank you?' Or am I on the wrong planet?"

"Is that what they call 'saving' on your planet? Remind me not to visit." Realizing how harsh that sounded, she sighed and forced a polite smile onto her features.  _I forgot how much 'polite' physically hurts my face_. "Look, I appreciate the opening you gave me. But maybe from now on you should leave the rescuing to someone else." With that, she gave him a cheery salute and turned on her heel to leave, checking the parcel to make sure she still had the part intact as she walked away.

"Hey, wait a minute!" The man hurried to keep up with her. "I was just trying to help a lady out. I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"You didn't offend me," she said wryly, "I just think it might be best for everyone involved if you kept the heroics to a minimum in the future, yeah?"

"I never said anything about heroics, I just…" The man scowled, ducking to avoid the low beams being carried on a construction droid rolling by. "Alright, what was your plan then?"

"What?"

"If I hadn't shown up, what was your plan? You were just going to magically make them disappear?"

"I don't know," she said, "I usually come up with something." Now  _she_ was annoyed. "Why are you still here? Don't you have ships to repair? Damsels to rescue?"

"I never said  _damsel_."

"Still not answering my question."

"You just got mugged—"

" _Almost_ mugged."

"—by three men with guns, and that doesn't faze you in the slightest?"

"What, were you expecting me to be some sobbing heap?" She rounded a corner.

The man rounded it with her. "I don't know, you could at least let me walk you home, or wherever it is you're going. I'd feel a lot better if I knew you got someplace safely."

Vette stopped and made an irritated noise in her throat that was half sigh and half groan. "You're not going to give this up, are you?"

The man shrugged. "Not likely." He extended a hand. "I'm Corso."

Vette eyed his hand warily before continuing her determined walk towards the penthouse. "Come on. I've got stuff to do."

* * *

Ishtaa needn't have worried about standing out with her dress of embers, much less being recognized as a Sith. The penthouse was packed with people by half past the hour, and her attire—which she had almost rejected as too elaborate when Vette had pushed it into her hands—was conservative compared to the outrageous outfits of the men and woman around her.

For the young socialites in particular, it seemed to be not only an opportunity to show off one's wealth, but also a competition for attention. Across the crowded room she noticed (with more displeasure than she liked to admit) a pack of girls surrounding Quinn. One of them "accidentally" tripped over the edge of her skirt, apologizing profusely as she fanned her fingers out over Quinn's chest to catch herself. He helped her up, ever the gentleman, but Ishtaa could see even at a distance that he held the girl's waist stiffly, and he was wearing a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.

She heard a voice at her shoulder. "Quite the hot commodity, isn't he?" She turned to see Darbin Sull, projecting his usual mixture of bravado and nonchalance as he watched Quinn across the room. "The Hero of Corellia," he said lightly.

"And of Druckenwell." She eyed him with a guarded expression. "You seem to have done quite well for a man who managed to lose an entire planet to Republic control. How did you weasel out of that one?"

Darbin put a hand to his heart dramatically. "'Weasel?' You wound me."

Ishtaa ignored him. "What are you doing here?" she asked flatly.

"Well, it would have been in poor taste not to come, seeing as I'm the one who organized the affair."

"Oh, don't be smart. I gathered that much. I mean, what are you  _actually_ doing here?"

"The same thing you are. Mixing, mingling…and, with any luck, making friends." He ended the sentence as a question, extending his hand to Ishtaa hopefully. She hesitated, trying to think of some valid reason to decline. When she realized there was none, she reluctantly took his hand and followed him onto the dance floor.

Darbin didn't seem to notice her discomfort, or if he did, he paid it no attention. "I must admit, I'm surprised to see you actually came," he said, setting his arm loosely around her waist. "Most Sith look down on these sorts of events."

"Really? And what sort of event would that be?"

He smiled ironically. "Sith don't deal in the same currency that we lowly Imperials do. Events like this, they're all about wealth. But you Sith: you have a more…aristocratic bent, shall we say? You don't dabble in things as common as  _money_. You deal in power. Lineage. Rising the ranks through reputation and prestige." He spun her around. They stopped speaking until he had re-captured her, and the rhythm of the dance resumed. "When Sith stoop down to occasions like this, it's because they want to crawl in the muck. They need something cheap that they can't get in the company of other Sith. So—my lady—what is it that you need?"

She met his prying gaze coolly. "I was in the area. You contacted me. I try to keep myself apprised of Imperial goings-on."

"An admirable approach. I myself am here for more practical reasons. Campaigns do not come cheap. I'll need some wealthy friends to fund my next election."

Ishtaa couldn't stop the scoff that broke through her lips. "You're lucky you  _survived_  Corellia, much less won a seat here. You really want to press your luck?"

"The campaign season never really ends. I'm getting a head start."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Assuming they don't kill you first, I imagine the Empire will more or less guarantee your re-election. Regimes don't change much under their rule."

"You imagine correctly, my lady."

She ignored his mis-title. "So answer my question. Why do you need 'friends' when you have a guaranteed position and no wars to speak of?" She raised an eyebrow. "You aren't thinking of defecting, are you?"

"And turn my back on my good friends from Dromund Kaas who so kindly ensured my ongoing survival? I wouldn't dream of it. The Empire supported me, and I will support the Empire." His overly bright smile faded, a more serious look taking its place. "The only question is,  _which_  Empire will I be supporting?"

Ishtaa stiffened. She pulled away from Darbin on instinct, and she felt his grip tighten in response.

Despite the shock flooding her brain, she managed to keep her face composed. "Some elaboration is required."

"Come on, you don't have to be coy with me. I can see what's going on."

"You have some nerve, talking like that to a Sith Lord. Do I need to—"

"Need to what? Slay me? Skin me alive? You wouldn't even rough me up to protect my cover."

"A decision I'm beginning to reconsider."

"Please, Ishtaa. You don't need to play the Dark Lord in my presence. I know what you are. I'm a politician," he explained. "I read people. That's what I do. And right now, you're an open book."

Keeping her face expressionless was not enough. It seemed that even her resting face was sufficient to terrify most Imperials, because some of the dancers around them had begun to inch away, glancing nervously at Ishtaa every so often. She would need to do more to blend in. Pushing down the wave of disgust in her stomach, she decided to take a new approach.

She leaned in towards Darbin, draping her arms around him as if he were a lover. "And what is it you think I am?" she said in a low voice.

"Well, there is the obvious: you're powerful, intelligent, beautiful…"

"And the less obvious?"

Darbin leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You are not like other Sith."

She glowered at him out of the corner of her eye.

He ignored her look; his lips were so close that she could feel his breath on the shell of her ear. "You're rational, merciful, just…and dangerous."

"You speak treason."

"I speak the truth. I wonder when the two conflated."

The music stopped at that moment. The silence was like a slap in the face and a lungful of air. She had broken away from Darbin almost automatically and somehow the space made it easier to breathe. But she felt like a woman nearly drowned, struggling not to gasp for breath or let her fear show.

"I will be watching you closely, my lady."

She tried to replace her impassive mask, but it was lopsided. Her voice fractured. "And where will you be watching from?"

"With luck, the winning side."

His lips against the top of her hand felt like a worm wriggling up her spine. She snatched her fingers from his grasp sooner than was polite and turned away, standing at the edge of the dance floor and trying to recompose her thoughts well after he had moved on to other things.

She felt a warm presence at her side. She had never been so grateful for the way Quinn radiated Quinn: heavy uniform fabric and those not-quite-clean-shaven cheeks that she could feel without touching.

Worry laced his voice, but it was his  _Captain_  voice, she noticed: restrained and a touch higher than his natural register. It shook her back into professionalism. "You look perturbed, my lord. Was the prime minister bothering you?"

She let out a short puff of air and a smile. "No more than he always does," she quipped. "He's a politician. Bothersome seems to be their natural state." There was a pause. When she realized that she was fresh out of pithy distractions, she cleared her throat. "Have you seen Vette? She was supposed to arrive a while ago."

"I can't say that I have. Shall I look for her?"

"She can't be in the ballroom. Check the entrances. I'll try the rooftop."

Quinn nodded and made a sharp about-face. Ishtaa left in the other direction, lifting her skirts slightly.

On top of the fancy dress, she wasn't sure whether she liked these dangerously high-heeled shoes. The loud "clack" they made with every step she made on the tiled floor was authoritative, but not good for blending in. And while they did make her legs look very good, she wondered how she would manage to fight in them, if it came to that.

It was a bit unsettling, now that she thought about it. She couldn't think why she would encounter any fighting at a party like this, apart from a drunken tussle between swaggering young men who got in each other's way, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, and amiss in such a way that she would wind up fighting someone by the end of the night.

A gaggle of young ladies in multicolored dresses came out of the ladies' refresher, talking and laughing without a care in the world. If they noticed a Sith lord lurking in the hall, they didn't comment on it.

She continued on her way, looking briefly into the ladies' room to see if Vette had taken shelter in there. For all her protests that Ishtaa should go to parties like this and wear pretty dresses and makeup more often, Vette wasn't one for parties herself—or at least, not the kind that involved ballroom dancing and political campaigns. Ishtaa wouldn't be too surprised to find Vette hiding somewhere like the women's refresher if she  _had_ shown up already.

Barring that, her next best bet would be to start looking for electronics or mechanical devices. She reached under her skirt to get the scanner out of her thigh sheath, sighing in annoyance as she was forced to expose her entire right leg to the empty hallway. Luck was with her, and she managed to retrieve the scanner and lower her skirt without anyone wandering by. With a tilt of her head, she managed to get the scanner right-side-up and began to walk the halls with slow, deliberate steps, holding the device aloft like a torch.

She went about it for several minutes in silence except for the periodic beeps of the scanner. When Quinn found her, she was able to hear his footsteps clearly enough that she didn't need to turn around to identify him.

"No luck?" she asked.

She saw him shake his head in her peripheral vision.

Ishtaa quirked her mouth off to one side, annoyed. "Well, she's got to be somewhere. If she's not here, then we'd better—" She stopped talking as the machine started chirping faintly. Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. That could be it."

Quinn looked over her shoulder. "Unusual readings. Looks like a broadcast signal of some kind, but it's not standard Imperial encryption."

"Not surprising. Vette wouldn't waste her time with standard Imperial encryption." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Let's see what machinery she's gotten her hands on this time, shall we?"

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Vette stopped when she reached the entrance to the plaza, turning around to look at the signs and lights that seemed to stretch upwards for miles.

Corso squinted up with her. "Remind me, what building are we lookin' for?"

"The Drago complex. Penthouse level." She pointed across the way. "There, I see it." Not waiting for Corso to follow her, she started across the translucent blue electro-bridge before it gave out at the end of the light cycle.

He caught up quickly. "You know, it's funny. The name rings a bell, but I can't figure out where I've heard it…"

She ignored him and kept her eyes fixed on the neon sign hanging over the entrance to the building…until Corso grabbed her by the arm and pulled her behind a credit booth. She pulled hard against his grip, but his fingers held strong as he dragged her into the booth's shadow.

"What are you doing?" she asked furiously.

He put a finger to his lips. " _Shhh!_ " he said.

She jerked free and glared at him. "What do you mean  _shh_?!" she snapped. "We're in the city! Who's going to hear us?!"

Corso turned her by the shoulders so she could see through a narrow gap in the booth. "You see that man in the heavy coat over there?"

Vette reluctantly looked through the plastiglass. There was a man—a male Zabrak—standing near the entrance of the building, wearing a dark armored coat. He seemed to be looking for someone, as if he had lost them in the crowd.

She raised an eyebrow at Corso. "Yeah? So?"

"He was looking at you."

"Yeah, well you might not have noticed, but it's a city and I'm a girl," she hissed. " _A lot_ of people look at me—you included, and look how well that turned out." She shoved his chest with enough force that he startled and let go of her arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

She tried to push past him but he blocked her.

"Listen, sweetheart—"

Her eyes flashed. "I am  _not_ your sweetheart!"

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, fine, whatever. Just listen to me, whatever your name is. There is a guy in a creepy trench-coat who was clearly looking for you, and if I'm not mistaken, he's got a couple of buddies parked out around the perimeter. Now, I don't know what your deal is, but that sounds like a trap to me, and I really think we should try another way."

"You want to go another way?" she said. "Fine. There is no  _we_. You just decided to follow me. You can go another way.  _I_ am going to go inside, to join my friend at a party. Now if you will  _excuse me._ " She stalked out from behind the booth, fuming.

The man in the heavy coat spotted her and turned, his coat flapping open slightly to reveal a pistol and an Imperial badge in a flash of crimson.

Corso drew his pistol. "Shit, Imps!"

Vette's eyes widened. "Wait!" she shouted, too late. Corso had already fired, striking the man in the trench coat in the shoulder. The imperial staggered.

Vette tugged on Corso's gun arm frantically as well-dressed civilians ran from the plaza, screaming.

He loosened his grip on the pistol long enough to throw her off balance and pull out of her reach. "Will you cut it out?!" He pulled out a much bigger gun, a semi-automatic, and let out a stream of blaster fire at the Imperials—who had now been joined by what appeared to be  _several_ undercover agents, along with a handful of soldiers who must have been lurking in the building's lobby.

She had to shout to be heard over the roar of Corso's gun. "Stop shooting at them!"

He stopped firing. "What?!"

"Stop shooting at them!" she shouted again. "I can sort this out!"

Corso stopped paying attention in mid-sentence, his eyes fixed on something over Vette's shoulder. He pulled her aside just before a well-aimed blaster shot breezed by, skipping off one of his shoulder plates where her head had been moments before. His eyes alight with fury, he turned on the agent who had fired the shot. He shot several times and missed, but it was enough to keep the agent trapped behind a bench as bolts blazed overhead.

Corso let out a yelp as a stray shot grazed his hip, right in the gap between two armor plates. Vette saw him look at her, then look at the Imperial agents, then back to her. His gaze hardened with decision.

"Miss, I'm real sorry to do this, but we're outnumbered, and I don't have time to argue with you."

"What do you— _hey!_ "

Corso picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She kicked at his chest, trying to angle her blows so they would land somewhere without armor. Even when she heard something explode behind her, she kept kicking. It was to no avail, and she had to stop her struggle as Corso began to run, jostling her like a sack of potatoes. His flight allowed her to see the chaos he'd left in his wake: there was a smoldering crater where a power station had been, and the Imperial agents who were still standing looked shell-shocked.

"Take me back! What the  _hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm getting you out of here."

"I don't want to get out, I want to go back!" She resumed pounding her fists against his back as he made his way down several levels, hurrying through narrow passages and down cement ramps until they emerged in the middle of a spaceport. There, she was struck with a new idea. She craned her neck as far as she could so that her face almost pressed against his neck. But just as she was about to bite, he turned his head, and Vette was stuck with a mouthful of dreadlock.

She sputtered in disgust. Corso, meanwhile, glanced at her with mild annoyance.

"Will you calm down? Look, I'll put you down if you promise not to go running into danger again." True to his word, he rearranged her so she was standing on her own two feet—but he kept one hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Oh, so I'm the one who's running into danger, meanwhile you feel the need to shoot at every Imperial in sight!"

"You want to stay alive around the Empire, you shoot first."

A pair of Imperial troopers holding datapads caught sight of Corso. "Freeze!"

He made a face. "Case in point. Come on, let's go." With him still holding her arm, she had no choice but to run after him, ducking when she heard blaster fire behind them.

Eventually, they reached a hanger containing a battered freighter. There was a Mon Calamari lounging on the ship's ramp when they entered. He looked up.

"Corso," he said, surprised. "What are you—?"

"No time." Corso pushed Vette into the Mon Calamari's arms and pounded a button to start raising the ramp. "Get her out of here and tell the Captain to take off. We've got trouble."

The Mon Calamari  _humphed_ derisively. "There's a surprise," he said as he left. The ship rumbled to a start a few seconds later, rotating in place as the various bits of machinery turned on. Vette looked out over the edge of the ramp, hoping for an opportunity to jump, but it was too high, and with the motion of the ship, she couldn't guarantee she would land on her feet.

The Imperials had caught up by then with reinforcements in tow. It wasn't until they had exchanged several rounds of fire that Corso even noticed her standing there, ducked behind one of the ramp lifts.

"You still out here?"

"I'm not going with you. Lower the ramp."

His brow furrowed as he watched one of the Imperials go down. "No can do. Get inside, I'll hold them off." He turned over his shoulder to holler. " _Bowie_ ,  _will you come and get this Twi'lek out of here before she gets hurt?_ "

A Wookiee roared somewhere inside the ship. A few seconds later, she saw him: a big, brown mountain of fur that looked at her warily. He growled something at Corso, whose scowl deepened.

"I know she's a stranger! It's complicated, will you just get her inside?"

Bowie made a sound of assent and put his arm around Vette, guiding her inside the ship.

She struggled against him long enough to shout something back at Corso. "You know, he's a lot gentler than you are!"

"I'll keep that in mind next time I'm debating whether to grow fur!"

Bowie pulled her into the ship with an arm around her shoulders before she could fire a retort. Below her feet, she could feel the engines rumbling in earnest. The Wookiee had to stabilize her as the ship started to rock, making its way up towards the exit. She had to admit, the Wookiee's hold was strangely comforting, like a warm, furry blanket. It did little to quell her anger.

"Look," she said, "I don't know how well you speak Basic, but you've got to tell the Captain to turn this ship around."

"Too late," said a new voice. "We're already in take-off. I just entered the clearance codes." She turned to look at the speaker: a ruggedly tanned, blond-haired man with the pale outline of racing goggles around his sharp gray eyes. He pulled off a pair of leather gloves before gesturing to her. "And who might you be?"

"I'm—"

She was cut off by Corso entering the room. "I held off the worst of it, cap'n, but there might be some scarring on the exterior." He put down his semi-automatic on the table and sank into the cushioned bench around it with a weary sigh. He only sat for a moment, however, before he jumped up with wide eyes, feeling his pockets and holsters in visible terror. "Oh no."

The gray-eyed man frowned. "What's the matter?"

Corso was up now, and frantic. "Oh no. Ohhhhh no. No, no, no…" His gaze fell on Vette. "What'd you do with Torchy?"

She made a face at him. "Torchy?"

"His gun." The gray-eyed man's explanation sounded like it'd been said a thousand times before. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "He names his guns."

"Torchy's a BlasTech ALT-25 blaster pistol. Custom grip. You had her during that last fight at the complex, what'd you do with her?"

Vette stammered. "I-I don't know. I just dropped it, I guess? I was a little busy at the time."

Corso gaped at her, aghast. "You…you dropped Torchy?"

"What's the big deal?" she asked. "A BlasTech's not that fancy, even with custom mods. Why not just build a new one?"

Corso's eyes went even wider. "Build a new—no. No, no, no." He sank back onto the bench. His eyes looked slightly hollow. "This isn't gonna work," he said. He looked up. "Captain, we've gotta go back."

The captain raised his eyebrows. "Go back? With what passcodes? Do you know how long it took me to get clearance in the first place?" He put his hands on his hips. "Besides which…You mind explaining what the hell happened? You were supposed to be running an errand."

Corso reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small package. He handed it to the captain without any change in expression. The gray-eyed man peered inside before re-sealing the parcel. "Still doesn't explain the girl," he said flatly. "Or the shooting."

Vette couldn't take it anymore. "He kidnapped me."

The captain blinked. "Pardon?"

"I did not  _kidnap_  you!" Corso protested.

Vette ignored him. "I was getting a part for my boss when farm boy here decided to 'rescue' me from a couple of thugs that wanted to mess up my day."

The captain frowned. "I don't see how that's a—"

She pulled out her blasters with a pointed look.

The captain trailed off. "Oh. Got it." Vette put the guns away with an eye roll. "So Corso decides to help you even though you can handle it yourself." He crossed his arms. "Still not getting the kidnapping."

"After I took care of the thugs—"

" _We_ took care of the thugs."

"— _I_ took care of the thugs," she said, glaring daggers at Corso, "he insisted on walking me back to my destination, so I would get there safely. But instead of letting me go when I got there, he started a gunfight."

Corso got up. "Oh, come on! You're not telling it fair! I only started the gunfight when I saw that Imp planning to pull a gun on  _you_!"

"Just because he had a gun doesn't mean he was going to shoot me."

"Oh, sure. The Imperial just  _happened_ to be looking for you and he had a gun handy."

" _Alright!_ " The captain threw his hands up and silenced both of them with a dirty look. He pointed at Corso. "You, shut up." He pointed at Vette. "You, keep talking. How'd you get from gunfight to here?"

She let out a puff of air, annoyed. "After he started shooting, he realized he was outnumbered. He also realized that I wasn't going to run with him 'to safety,' so he decided it would be a good idea to carry me off like a bag of spare parts."

The captain pointed to Corso. "That true?"

He at least had the decency to stare at his boots. "Well, yeah." He raised his eyes defiantly. "But what was I supposed to do? Leave her there to get shot at?"

Vette scoffed. "You didn't have a problem leaving the rest of the civilians in the area. Why didn't you carry  _them_ off too?"

"Alright, alright!" The captain rubbed a hand across his face, bleary-eyed. "My goodness." He sighed. "Look, miss, I'm really sorry. This has all been a huge misunderstanding. You mind telling me who your boss is so I can get you back where you're supposed to be?"

"Darth Ishtaa."

The captain stared at her blankly. "'Scuse me?"

"Darth Ishtaa," Vette repeated. "As in, dark lord of the Sith. Emperor's Wrath, actually, if you're into that sort of thing, which I'm really…not."

The captain fidgeted. "Right, okay, Darth Ishtaa. Dark lord of the Sith. Of course." He cleared his throat. "Right. Corso, could you come here for a second?"

With a sigh, he rose from the booth and moved to stand next to the captain. "What?"

The captain put a hand on his shoulder. "Corso, let me explain something to you." There was a pause, and then he drew his hand back and punched Corso in the gap between his chest guard and shoulder plates.

Corso flinched. "Ow!" he protested. "What the hell'd you do that for?"

"What the hell were you thinking?! You kidnapped—I can't believe this." The captain gestured wildly, first throwing his hands out, then placing him on his hips, then gesturing as if he was going to strangle Corso, and finally rubbing one hand across his face again. "Shit."

And then, a very familiar voice sounded a little ways down the hallway. It was deeper than Vette remembered, and hoarser… _it couldn't be the same voice_ , she thought to herself.

"What's all the commotion?"

A woman with auburn hair, brown eyes, and hands blackened with engine grease plodded out into the common area, her hair pinned back into curls. "Why are we flying?" she asked, wiping the grease from her hands with a rag.

The captain didn't seem to notice the way Vette's jaw had dropped. "It's a long story. Don't worry about it. Go back to whatever it was you were working on, I'll get this sorted out."

The last part of his sentence might as well have been gibberish for all the woman heard. The Mon Calamari could have pranced into the room in a dancer's outfit and she wouldn't have noticed. She was staring at Vette.

"Oh my god."

Vette squinted, unable to believe what she was seeing. " _Risha_?"

Risha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it. It really is you."

They stared at each other for a few very long seconds. Then Vette burst out laughing and ran forward with her arms thrown wide, diving into Risha for a hug. The taller woman caught her with equal enthusiasm, laughing and swinging her around.

The two men were baffled.

"Uh, captain?"

"Yeah, I'm as lost as you here, buddy." He cleared his throat. "Um, Risha? Mind telling me what's going on?"

She grinned. "Sorry, babe. Vette, this is the ship's captain, Dax Walker. A.k.a. the Void Hound, a.k.a. my boyfriend. He helped me find my dad's treasure."

"And she helped me kick ass, get my ship back from the son of a bitch who stole it, and turned me into a respectable, upstanding Republic citizen in the process."

"Don't kid yourself." Risha leaned over to give Dax a kiss. At the last minute, she pulled away and tapped him on the nose, leaving a spot of grease right in the center. He wiped it away, smirking at her. "Captain, this is Vette. She's that little Twi'lek girl I told you about, the one I grew up with."

"No kidding." He reached out to shake her hand. "I hear you're one hell of a thief."

"Not so much anymore. Lately, I've been on the side of the law. 'Honest' work and all that."

His expression grew wary. "Yeah, about that. Not to throw a wet blanket on this happy reunion but…what was that you were saying earlier about a Sith lord?"

Risha's eyes widened. "What's this? You in trouble with the Sith?"

Vette laughed. "No, no. It's nothing like that. Actually, it's kind of complicated."

"We've got time." Risha arched an eyebrow at the captain. "How long did you say it would take to get new clearance to land?"

"I didn't. It'll be tricky now that the spaceports are all effectively under Imperial influence, but if I run the key generator I could probably get a valid code in about…" He thought for a moment. "36 hours? But," he added, "I should probably warn you, it would have to be a real quick drop and go. To be honest, I'm not thrilled with the idea. A code is enough to gain initial clearance, but that'll fall apart real quick once they so much as look at the ship. They'll be on our tails and shooting by the time we reach a safe landing zone."

The Wookiee had hovered around the edges of the room for a few minutes in silence. It startled Vette when he finally spoke, letting out a relatively soft warble.

"That's true," Risha said. "Nar Shaddaa's not the only place you could meet up again. There are other neutral worlds in the galaxy…ones that are  _actually_ neutral, not pseudo-Imperial." She turned to Vette. "How big a rush are you in?"

"Honestly…I'm not. Ishtaa just—" She trailed off, realizing suddenly that she was talking to Republic allies, and  _Darth_ Ishtaa's military activities weren't common knowledge. She bit back the words but it felt strange, like she was telling a lie. "We just finished up what we were working on. Given how long we were working, I'd say we're probably on R&R for the next couple of weeks."  _That much is true_. She rushed on. "Besides which, I haven't seen you in forever. I thought you were dead."

"Close, but not quite."

Risha, turning Vette around to brush something off her back. Vette craned her neck and found two greasy black handprints square between her shoulder blades.

"Whoops, forgot I was in the middle of something when I came out here," Risha said apologetically. "I'd say sorry about your shirt, but it looks like you've already put it to good use." She studied Vette for a moment. "I was upgrading the hyper-drive when you came in. You still remember how to crawl around the underbelly of a ship?"

"Um…sort of? I haven't done it lately. Crawl-spaces are sort of a smuggler thing. Not exactly Imperial regulation." She slipped into Quinn's accent on the last words without thinking.

Risha snorted. "None of the fun stuff is," she said dryly. "Come on, I'll show you around."

She followed Risha down the rounded hallway, already struggling not to laugh as she thought of all the good times, all the funny stories she had to tell her about. They had so much to catch up on.

Dax shouted after them. "Hey, were you ever going to explain the Sith thing?"

Risha rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, captain. Vette's safe. She's not the sort to drag us into messy Imperial business."

"Yeah, but…guh." The captain trailed off weakly as the two women strolled away arm in arm. Then he said, "Corso, I have no idea what an  _Emperor's Wrath_ is, but if I have to find out because of  _you_ , I will murder you. Horribly." He shook his finger threateningly for emphasis.

Corso snorted skeptically. "No, you won't."

Dax withered and lowered his raised finger. He crossed his arms. "Yeah, you're probably right," he sighed. He paused. "Might have Akaavi do it," he said, more brightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, Risha calls the captain “Captain.” Partly because that’s what she called him when she first got to know him, and it felt weird to switch to his first name once they got together, partly because “Dax” is a really stupid name and she hates using it. (He agrees.)
> 
> Reviews greatly appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Ishtaa growled under her breath.

"My lord?"

She whacked the device against her palm. "Blasted thing won't work. It keeps flickering when I turn around, but I'm not get any closer to whatever's setting off the signal even when I walk back the way I came. It's been showing the same distance through this entire hallway."

Quinn frowned and gently pried the reader from her fingers. "Let me see." He fiddled with the settings. His lips pursed and his frown deepened as he ran through the configurations. "It seems to be working," he said. He turned the device over in his hands, studying it for damage.

Ishtaa crossed her arms and stalked along the hallway, pacing restlessly.

His voice stopped her. "My lord…"

She turned to look at him, curious at his tone and the battle-cold expression frozen on his face.

"It moved," he said, his voice clipped. "When you did."

She stared at him for a second, then it registered. He watched her, waiting for the look of understanding, then he slowly reached for the blaster at his hip. She shook her head, gesturing for him to continue acting like nothing was wrong. She caught the flicker of annoyance, blue eyes darkening a shade. But she saw his hand move, and his fingers stopped itching for the holster. He fixed her with a sharp look before pretending to return his attention to the reader in his hand.

Ishtaa breathed out softly. Then she leapt into action, using the connection of her breath to reach out across the room, feeling for the invisible droid, expecting to meet cold wires and numbers oblivious to her touch. Instead it reached out towards her…warm and alive in the Force.

It was too late to stop and sense. By the time she realized what she was dealing with, she had already brought her saber down on the droid's head, where it flickered—seemingly out of mid-air—into a molten heap of scrap that was split right down the middle, edges still glowing red where her blade had cut.

Quinn was behind her with his blaster drawn. "You alright?"

"Fine," she answered. "I handled worse on Korriban." She crouched down towards the remains of the droid, running a hand over the top of its remains, searching for any remnants of life or sensitivity.

She wasn't at it for long before Quinn was at her shoulder again. "My lord," he said quietly.

She looked up, distracted. He nodded towards the end of the hallway, where a crowd of partygoers had started to congregate, gossiping in stage whispers and wondering loudly what all the fuss was about.

Ishtaa started to stand up—only to realize when she moved that her right leg was cold. She glanced down to find her dress torn down the side. It might have passed for intentional, except for the threads and pieces of the ember-material hanging off…and the painfully obvious way she hugged her leg in closer to her midline, trying to conceal the bare skin with as much fabric as she could.

A figure broke through the crowd. Darbin Sull strode towards Ishtaa, whites of his eyes gleaming. "What seems to be the trouble here?" he asked, not sounding at all troubled.

Quinn rounded on him, ignoring the fact that Sull had paid him about as much interest as the catering staff. "I was wondering the same thing," he said sharply. "I'm curious, when did you decide it was a good idea to place a surveillance droid on the Emperor's Wrath?"

"Surveillance?" Darbin chuckled. "What are you talking about?"

Ishtaa spoke up before Quinn could get really cross. "We went looking for a friend of mine who has a way of finding things to tinker with. I thought that if we could find some electronic toys we might find her with them. Instead, we found this invisible droid following me," she said archly. "Care to explain?"

"Would that I could," he said. He sounded completely unfazed by her questioning. She might have been asking about his taste in wine and cheese for all he seemed to care. "I regret to say, however, that I'm at as much a loss as you are."

"In that case, you have a rather gaping hole in your security," Quinn snapped.

"Captain Quinn makes an excellent point." Ishtaa's eyes gleamed with unspoken implication as she met Sull's bravado head-on. "Imagine if instead of a surveillance droid, it had been an  _assassin_ contracted to kill one of your distinguished guests."

Sull's smile broke. He managed to plaster it back on, but not comfortably, and not before a ripple of unhappy murmurs had gone through the crowd. He laughed nervously. "Oh, I can only imagine. How lucky for us that we have such  _distinguished guests_ who are so capable of defending us! And of defending the galaxy, I might add." He turned to the guests, gesturing for agreement. "Let's take a moment to acknowledge two of our Empire's  _finest_ ," he said, smiling broadly.

The crowd clapped and cheered, oblivious to the ironic tone in the former minister's voice. Ishtaa was mortified. She could feel the apples of her cheeks heating up, the sensitive veins she had tried so hard to cover with makeup turning scarlet as blood rushed to her face. She tried valiantly to maintain her dignity in front of the applauding audience, shifting her legs so the remains of her skirt hung loosely, disguising the massive tear.

Quinn sensed her discomfort; out of the corner of her eye, she saw his gaze flicker down over the tear in her skirt. When the crowd dispersed, he started to unbutton his jacket.

He stopped in mid-button as Darbin Sull pulled off his cape with a flourish. The smaller man offered it and extended his hand to Ishtaa with a smile. "Here, this should cover the tear. Now that this is all sorted out, would you care to accompany me back to the dance floor?"

She wasn't sure how Sull managed to ignore the stare of death currently emanating from Quinn, burning into the former minister's skull. Rather than call attention to it, she gave the politician a gracious smile. "Thank you for your offer and your hospitality, Mr. Sull, but I think that's quite enough excitement for one night."

He bowed. "As you wish. I hope to see you again soon." He glanced at her, then at her leg, and finally at Quinn. "You'll make it safely home?"

She put her lightsaber back in its sheath, pointedly so he would see. "I'll manage."

"I hope so." There was more weight to his words than their needed to be for the simple wish.

Ishtaa eyed the remains of the droid before her. They had finally stopped smoking. "Have some of the household staff load the remnants of this droid into my vehicle," she ordered.

"As you wish, my lady." Sull lowered himself into a bow. "It's been an honor to have you."

She lowered her head by way of acknowledgement and made her way to the exit, moving slowly to maintain some semblance of grace in her torn dress and broken shoe. She'd made it about halfway to the door when she noticed that Quinn was holding his elbow out. She took it gratefully, hooking her arm around his and trying her best not to break any bones when she squeezed to hold herself up in mid-step. To his credit, Quinn managed to keep his face blank and hide whatever discomfort she was causing him, even when her other shoe slipped, causing her to fall outwards and pull on his arm rather violently.

When they were outside on the valet platform, she released his arm. (He  _did_ , she noticed, let a flicker of pain show then, and he rubbed his arm in a way that suggested he didn't even realize he was doing it.) They stood for several minutes, waiting for the valet droid to return.

Quinn spoke first. "Permission to speak openly, my lord?"

Ishtaa's mouth quirked up in a half smile, amused by his solemnity. "Permission granted," she said, ending the sentence as a question.

"You could kill him. Darbin Sull, I mean."

"The wine wasn't  _that_  bad."

"My lord, please." Quinn seemed utterly sincere. "He was mocking you. Most Sith lords would not hesitate to kill someone who openly mocked them like that. Why do you? It's not as if he's of particular use to the Empire, or a good man."

"No, he isn't." She fiddled with one of the embers hanging off the torn edge of her gown. "But I am not like most Sith lords. You of all people should realize that."

"I do," he said. "It's just…it might be easier if you got rid of men like him. Get rid of a simpering politician and defend your reputation, all in one fell swoop."

"How could one politician ruin my reputation? And why does it even matter? I don't need a reputation, I have a lightsaber."

"You're not the only person in this Empire with a lightsaber."

She narrowed her eyes. "Meaning what, exactly?"

The Quinn she was talking to flickered, and Quinn the Captain returned. "Forgive me, my lord. It's not my place."

"It is if I order you to say it." She crossed her arms. "You've obviously got something to say. Say it."

Quinn puffed. "Fine," he said. "Since I'm already dangling, I'll go out on a limb." He turned to look at her directly in the eye, with an intensity she hadn't seen in a very long time, emboldened by her order. "I worry."

"Worry?" she repeated, taken aback. "What about?"

"You're not like most Sith, as you've pointed out," he said. He broke her gaze and stared at his feet. "And I'm not the only one who knows it."

She fell silent at that. This was news. "How many?"

"I couldn't say. When I—when he…" Quinn's voice frayed. "Baras had reports. Dozens of them. Afterwards, I convinced myself they must have been faked to convince me but lately…lately, I've been wondering." He sighed. "And even if they were fabricated, the fact remains that the things alleged in them, the things Baras painted as being so contradictory to everything the Empire stood for, they were all true."

"What sort of things?"

Quinn paused and gave her a look as if he were measuring her up, searching her for the right words. "Your compassion," he said finally. "Your honor. Your frankness. Your humility." He hesitated. "Your mercy."

"Do you think I should change those things?"

"No!" He flushed when he realized how quickly and how loudly he had said it. "No," he said again, quieter. "Before, perhaps. But now…now, I wouldn't follow you if you did." He blinked hard several times and his lips contorted in a strange way. "That scares me." His voice shook as he continued. "And it scares me when I realize that there are others who will think like Baras, who will want to destroy you for what you are."

"And you think the solution is to kill Darbin Sull?"

"No, that's not…" He paused, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not seeming to care that he had mussed the coarse black strands out of their place. "I don't know. I just…"

Her chest ached and she found that she couldn't bear the look on his face for another moment. She had to do something, something to wipe that look away and make his eyes light up for a second…just to tell him that everything would be alright.

She reached over and wound her fingers through his. She felt the moment of hesitation. There would be shock written all over his face, she knew it, but she was too shy to dare look. She knew she'd turn scarlet as soon as she did. But after a moment, she felt the reservation give way, and his fingers folded against the back of her palm. Then she could look at him. She raised her chin and met his gaze with a smile that tried to be confident even with the ache in her chest. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, heart glowing with warmth when she saw the way the fine lines around his eyes softened.

One more squeeze, then she let go of his hand. She searched for something to divert her attention before she did something stupid. She settled for her com unit. She pulled it out to check it even though she knew there wouldn't be any messages.

There were two.

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh." She put the piece up to her ear.

Quinn busied himself with the buttons on his cuff while she listened.

"Huh," she said, after she'd heard the message through—twice, to be certain she hadn't misunderstood.

"Trouble?"

"You could say that. It seems Vette has managed to get herself off-world and in the company of some Republic-aligned smugglers."

He stiffened. "Republic? Is she-?"

"She's alright," she said. "She was, ah, taken against her will from the sound of it, but things seem to have worked out for her. One of the smugglers is a childhood friend of hers."

"Ah. Well, that's good then." Quinn paused until he could contain himself no more. "My lord, you don't think—"

"Don't worry, I think Vette's smart enough to keep any Imperial military secrets to herself. The ones she knows, anyway."

He nodded, placated. "Where does that leave our plans?"

"The plan hasn't changed. We'll have to pick up Vette later. For now, I have more pressing matters to attend to. There are some questions I want answered."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Ishtaa strode past the Imperial guard without any hesitation, her skirts sweeping the floor as she walked. Though in some respects she preferred her armor, she had to admit there was a feeling of power in the way the robes brushed around her legs when she walked. They certainly helped her look the part. The crimson robes were thick and regal, every inch densely embroidered with patterns she could not decipher; the black leather vest gave her a militant air that offset the refined femininity of her elaborate hairstyle and the pink silk sash Jaesa had put around her waist and secured with a gold cord. She had painted her whole face pale white except for the dark shadows around her eyes and bloody red lips with a split down the lower middle. The finishing touch was a gift from Vowrawn: a gold ornament that clasped onto the bridge of her nose. She had hesitated when he first gave it to her, wondering if it might not be seen as presumptuous for a human to wear traditional Sith jewelry—especially a false copy that required no actual piercing—but he had insisted. It would make her more fearsome, he said, and it was a gift besides: if anyone took issue with her choice in jewelry, they could take it up with the Sith who had given it to her.

The doors gave a satisfying  _bang_ as she entered, and the Council fell silent, though she could still hear the last speaker's words echoing in the air—the second half of their sentence still unspoken. She could sense Marr's eyes on her even through his mask, curious and watching. Ravage's reaction was less subtle. He seemed to be boiling in his seat.

"Sorry to be late, my fellow lords," she said coolly. "I see you started without me."

Ravage cut her off. "This is a Council session, Wrath. You are not a member of this Council. What are you doing here?"

Ishtaa raised an eyebrow at him. "I was under the impression the Emperor's Wrath was answerable  _only_ to the Emperor himself."

"And if you answer to the Emperor himself, then you can hear his orders  _directly_. Your presence at this council session is unnecessary and inappropriate."

"Peace, Ravage," Marr said. "I assume the Wrath has important reasons for interrupting us."

"I do," she said simply. She turned to watch as a couple of servants closed the enormous doors to the chamber, the grinding of stone against stone echoing around the massive chamber. When they had closed with a final thud, she returned her attention to the Council. "Dark Council, it has recently come to my attention that someone is trying to monitor my movements."

There was a murmur in the chamber.

"Perhaps it has slipped your notice," Ravage sneered, "but the vast majority of a Sith's  _life_ is spent looking over their shoulder for enemies who might be following them. Or did you manage to miss that lesson when Baras plucked you from the Academy prematurely?"

A few of the councilors chuckled.

Ishtaa scowled. "I do not come here to protest my rivals," she spat. "I am quite capable of handling those myself. What concerns me is the fact that the droid that followed me was imbued with the power of the Force. I have only seen such fusion of technology and mystical energy once before: the technology of the Rakata."

At that, the Council fell silent.

"The Council has received no reports of Rakata technology in Imperial space apart from that which is already accounted for," Darth Acina said briskly. "The Sphere of Technology should examine the droid, or what remains of it."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that," said Ishtaa. "I suspect that the person watching me is a member of this Council." The voices of protest almost drowned out the words that followed. "To hand it over for Council study would be to risk sabotage."

Darth Mortis leaned forward as he spoke. "This is a serious accusation, Wrath. Have you any conclusive proof?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet?" Ravage repeated incredulously. "You have the gall to accuse an unnamed member of this council of spying on you without any evidence to support that claim?"

"I do not name any names because I have not yet discovered the perpetrator," Ishtaa snapped, "but I do not believe it could be anyone but a member of this Council. No one else would have access to such advanced technology without the knowledge of Sith Intelligence."

It was then that she noticed Darth Zhorrid's absence. Looking around the chamber, it suddenly dawned on her that  _several_ of the Council members were missing: Thanaton, Corpus, and Rictus were also absent.

"Where is Darth Zhorrid?" she asked. "Why are there so many Council members missing?"

"It is the Council's business to see that the Empire runs as it should," Marr said. "When that business requires travel, they do it."

Ishtaa opened her mouth to ask more questions, but then she saw Vowrawn out of the corner of her eye, shaking his head. She clapped her mouth shut.

"Now," Ravage said contemptuously, "if the Wrath has no  _further_ interruptions, could we please return to our business?"

She raised her chin so as to look down on the members of the Council, but nodded nonetheless. "You may." She hesitated before leaving the room, making eye contact with Vowrawn, challenging him to explain what was going on. He nodded so subtly that Ishtaa wasn't sure he had moved anything except his eyes, but she got the message. With that, she turned and left the room with her hands folded in her sleeves, this time allowing the servants to open and close the doors for her so they did not crack and thunder against the walls.

* * *

There was something peaceful about the way her footfalls reverberated against the stone walls as she made her way through the tomb, Jaesa thought: the only sound in a silent space, like a heartbeat, only gentler. More predictable. She could control her footsteps.

The thought gave her some pause as it brought to mind the alternative. Her pace stuttered as she remembered Nar Shaddaa and the horrible nightmares that had haunted her since. She'd calmed down some, but she couldn't shake the image from her head: the brilliant star gone dark, light more powerful than almost anything, a light that should have burned for thousands of years more—gone, extinguished like a candle in the bedchamber.

She brushed her fingers against one of the Jedi artifacts to sooth herself, closing her eyes and inhaling cool, sweet air as she felt the cold surface of the polished clay. The artifacts had been brought from Tython for "study," but there had been nobody studying them when she slipped past the guards into the building. It was more likely they had just stolen them to keep them from the Jedi, or out of spite. But in this moment, she was thankful for it. In their own strange way, the Sith had brought her peace.

"Enjoying the craftsmanship?"

Jaesa's eyes snapped open. She would have knocked over the pottery if she didn't reach out to stop it hitting the ground.

The man who had entered the room caught it too. The two of them stood there for a moment, Jaesa breathing hard and he studying her with strange, pale eyes as they held the artifact aloft. Then the man smiled faintly and gestured with his hand, and Jaesa let herself breathe as his unnerving eyes broke away from hers. The tablet slowly lowered to the ground until it came to rest without a sound.

He stepped forward with deliberate, graceful steps, plum coat swishing quietly around his legs as he moved. Even his stoop was elegant as he bent down to pick up the tablet, turning it over in his long-fingered hands. Jaesa backed away and allowed herself a closer look at him while his attention was on the tablet. The lines of his face could have been carved like one of the artifacts in the room, his skin as dark as Jaesa's but cooler, with an almost moonlike glow that mirrored the way the light reflected off his eyes. His hair was strange as well: black but not quite black, reminding her in some way of charcoal.

" _Ashina natua es_." He looked up at her. "Do you know what that means?" The way he asked it made it clear he knew exactly what it meant. She shook her head. His smile became lopsided. "It means that this area is off-limits to all but those who have been authorized by the Dark Council." He rose and placed the tablet back on its pedestal, then clasped his hands behind his back and approached Jaesa, moving just close enough that she felt the impulse to move away again. She stifled her discomfort.

The man was studying her again with those preternatural eyes. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm…" She tried to say her name, but she couldn't make the words. "Leaving," she finished in a small voice. "Excuse me, my lord." She turned to leave while she could still move gracefully, without running in a panic.

"You're not like the others."

Jaesa stopped in her tracks.

"I can feel it," the man continued. "I can sense it in the way you carry yourself. You have an aura of peace that I don't much see on this planet."

She laughed at that. It was half a scoff. " _Peace_ ," she said, thinking of the constant restlessness that knotted her stomach. She trailed off, remembering herself. "You must be mistaken," she amended. "Peace is a lie."

"No, but you try to be. You could be." The sound of his footsteps thudded in her chest: a heartbeat, out of her control. But why did he sound so calm? Pleased, almost. The uneven rhythm of her heart took on a hopeful note.

Goosebumps prickled along her upper back as his fingers—warmer than she'd expected—pushed aside her hair to reveal the beaded braid she hid at the nape of her neck, where it would stay secret. The man turned it over in his fingers.

"The braid of a Padawan. An old Jedi tradition." He released the braid. Jaesa turned to look at him defiantly. There was no use hiding it now. If he knew, he knew, and there was no point in hiding it. "You were a Jedi."

"A Padawan. Once."

"What changed?"

She hesitated, weighing how to answer. "My master revealed what he truly was," she said cautiously. "He had been corrupted by the dark side, but he couldn't admit what he truly was."

"Corrupted?"

"Changed," she said hurriedly, "I meant to say. He—"

The man waved it off. "I don't need to hear it," he said impatiently. "I know what you are. You needn't pretend with me."

"And what am I?" Jaesa challenged.

The man simply smiled. "Farewell, Jaesa Willsaam. Perhaps our paths may cross again." He lowered his head into a bow without taking his eyes from hers, then he turned to pick up an ancient metal sphere in one hand and left through the nearest door, spinning and unraveling it between his fingers as he went, leaving Jaesa to stare after him in wide-eyed bewilderment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews greatly appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by the lovely CatSamwise!

The dusty surface of Korriban was shimmering with heat. It was pleasantly cool within Vowrawn's villa, but every so often a hot breeze would sweep past the window and flutter the white coverings. Ishtaa kept taking slow, deep breaths, enjoying how sharp the cold air felt as it entered her lungs, driving away the muggy waves of heat that made her brain fog. Vowrawn's serving droid whirred up behind her.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to drink, my lord? Darth Vowrawn keeps his cellars well-stocked and has asked me to extend every hospitality."

She smiled wanly and waved it away. "Thank you, C2, I'm fine."

The door opened behind her. "That was unwise, my dear," Vowrawn said with a touch of weariness. "I understand that you wanted to find out how much they knew, but publicly confronting the entire Dark Council during a session—"

Ishtaa cut him off. "Did you sense what happened when I mentioned the Rakata technology?"

He broke off mid-sentence. "I sensed it," he said.

"The entire Dark Council," she mused, "paralyzed in fear by a single word." Her fingers tightened on the warm pink stone of the windowsill, her brow furrowed in thought. "Something's not right." Vowrawn didn't say anything. She glanced over at him, and noticed that he was studiously avoiding her gaze. She turned to face him directly, her wall-side hand just brushing the windowsill as she straightened. He seemed unperturbed by her response, and set about pouring himself a small glass of something amber. "You know something," she said.

He poured a small measure into his cup. "I have my suspicions."

She crossed her arms. "Have or had?" He didn't answer, uncharacteristically quiet as he stoppered the decanter and took a sip from his glass. Ishtaa turned her irritated gaze to the ceiling. "Why didn't you say anything?" she said accusingly.

Vowrawn took another sip. "Some things are better left unsaid."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, uncrossing her arms to put her hands on her hips.

At that moment Vowrawn seemed to suffer a coughing fit, his drink gone down the wrong way. Ishtaa's expression softened as she instinctively stepped forward to help him as he hunched over the table coughing. He waved away her help with a hand—then, as she straightened and he caught his breath, he caught her gaze and gestured discretely to the serving droid. Ishtaa's attention flitted to the droid. Her eyes met the droid's visual receptors, and she understood.  _We are being watched._

Casually, Ishtaa cleared her throat and returned to the window for a moment, looking out beyond the pristine walls of the villa as if she were admiring the view, her hands clasped and covered beneath the draping folds of her overlong sleeves. After a moment, she made her way towards the peristyle, feeling the warm air turn to cool as it swept over the surface of the pool and through the gilded pillars of the arcade.

Vowrawn, apparently finished with his drink, came up alongside her, and the two began a stroll around the edge of the room.

It wasn't until they were well out of the droid's eye- and earshot that Vowrawn spoke. "There have been changes in the Empire," he said in a low voice. "Ever since Baras laid claim to the title of the Emperor's Voice, the power struggles have shifted. Sith are no longer satisfied with petty feuds or with vying for power in the lower ranks. More and more, they are beginning to realize that the great seat at the heart of this Empire-the one that men once feared to approach-may in fact be vacant."

Ishtaa's face was a numb mask, immune to the mixture of hope and terror that was welling up underneath. "You think there's going to be a coup?"

"Oh, there have been attempts. Baras. Malgus. A few scattered instances of Revanite uprisings-none of them gained any significant traction, so far."

"So far," she said pointedly. "But eventually one of them's bound to succeed."

"That is my suspicion."

She stopped before a black-stone statue streaked with white: a golden-eyed Sith standing triumphant over the mangled corpse of his foe. The elegant lines made the brutality of the scene somehow  _more_ horrifying. Ishtaa turned her gaze, unsettled. "And you think-what? That someone wants to get rid of the Emperor's Wrath and this surveillance droid has something to do with it?"

"Perhaps. It certainly warrants further investigation." They resumed walking. "In the meantime, you would do well to avoid further attention."

"You want me to lay low?"

"For the time being."

"Won't that be perceived as weakness?"

Vowrawn shook his head and stopped again. "You've stirred up the waters enough," he said seriously. "Now is the time to let them still, and lull whatever fish may be lurking into complacency."

Ishtaa betrayed no response in her expression as she stared across the room. He had given her much to think about.

* * *

Vette was relieved to find when she looked at her datapad after breakfast that Quinn's message was of the short, terse variety. She hadn't slept well on the unfamiliar ship, and she wasn't sure she had the brain cells available to process one of Quinn's reports.

" _Lord Ishtaa leaving Korriban. Destination will be encoded in messages to follow. Will use your standard encryption, version 3.0. May wish to consider developing a 4.0 when we return. Radio silence still applies. Contact only in emergencies (and even in emergency, watch what you say—Republic ears may be listening on that ship)."_

She rolled her eyes at the last part. Ever since she had pestered him about Moff Broysc, Quinn had gotten it in his head that she didn't know how to keep her mouth shut. She grimaced as she took a sip of the strange caffeinated juice Dax kept on-board. It was sweet, but strangely acrid, as if someone had poured in a little bit of paint thinner mixed with something sour.

There was a scuffle of boots on the floor-grills and Corso came into the kitchen. Vette watched him as he made his way to the refrigerator, waiting for the inevitable scowl or muttered comment, but in his sleepy state he didn't seem to notice her. He went through the motions of getting his drink like a droid: grab the juice container, pour the juice, sip it, close the fridge. The juice seemed to wake him up a little bit. He stretched and rubbed his eyes before turning his attention to the cupboards, where he fished through the various ration boxes to find the least-offensive option. He settled on an oat bar wrapped in crinkling plastic. He was mid-bite with a mouthful of mealy oats when he saw Vette.

He chewed and swallowed. "Morning," he said stiffly.

"Hey."

Corso finished his oat bar on the second bite and washed it down with the remainder of his juice, letting out a satisfied 'ah.' He opened the fridge again and started to pour himself a second glass, but then he paused in mid-pour. He looked at the jug for a moment, then shrugged, and as he closed the fridge he took a big swig straight out of the container. His eyes found Vette.

She pretended not to notice him staring, busying herself with a few odds and ends that had been left on the table.

"You mind if I ask you something?"

 _Here we go again_. She put down the bolt she was twirling in her fingers and turned to look at him with a look of forced patience.

"Why the Empire?"

Vette was taken aback. She had expected him to open with some condescending remark, or more insults about the Empire. Instead she heard what sounded like an honest question.

She stared down at her fingers, twirling the bolt again. "Not sure what you mean," she said.

"I mean…why the Empire? I just don't get it. Why would you willingly help a government that hates aliens and enslaves people like you?" She shot him a curious look. He squirmed in his boots. "Twi'lek, I mean."

She decided to ignore his obvious discomfort with mentioning the word 'Twi'lek.' "Didn't have much choice in the matter at first. But things worked out in the end. And it's not so bad."

Corso coughed on his juice. "Not so bad?"

Vette could hear the agitation in his voice. She put the toy down on the table and stood up, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter to face him.

Corso was aghast. "You're telling me that the Empire—that murders innocent people, conquers planets, supports slavery, and treats aliens like crap isn't that bad?"

"The Republic's not much better," she said flatly.

If she'd thought Corso's eyebrows couldn't go any higher, she was wrong. "Excuse me?"

She gave him a dirty look. "When's the last time you saw a Republic leader who actually did something to help the Twi'lek," she snapped, "or any aliens for that matter, except as some half-hearted charity case?"

"Better half-hearted than  _slavery_."

"You think we're free in the Republic?" Vette uncrossed her arms and started gesturing angrily. "My sister worked as a dancer, as a  _slave_  whose body was soldfor most of her life, and you know what? When I found her, she was surrounded by just as many off-duty Pubs as she was Imperials. And you want to know who helped her out of there?" She jabbed a finger against her chest. "Me. Me and my buddy the Sith."

She glowered at Corso. "Don't lecture me about how great the Republic is," she said darkly. "The Republic didn't do a thing for me. And the Empire didn't either. Ishtaa's the only sure thing I've got in this world. The  _Sith_. I wouldn't be free if it wasn't for her." She turned away from him to dump her juice in the sink.

"You've got Risha. You've got…us."

She turned over her shoulder to appraise him skeptically.

"Wow," she said with profound sarcasm. "One childhood friend, a misfit crew, and the man who kidnapped me. You've really sold me on this whole Republic thing." She put her glass down in the sink with a glassy  _thunk_  and turned to leave the kitchen.

Corso followed her.

"Would you stop with this whole kidnapping thing? I was just trying to help! I just…the way those guys were looking at you…"

She stopped and let out a laugh. "Is that what you think I am?" she asked, turning with her hands on her hips. "Some kind of damsel in distress?

He made a face. "What? No!"

"Some fragile, wilting flower who's going to swoon into your arms?"

"I was trying to help!" Corso sighed. "Look, things might have gotten out of hand, but I saw what they were planning, the way they were looking at you, and I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. If your sister had been in that situation, if some creeps had her cornered in that place you saved her from, wouldn't you have wanted someone to step in and defend her?"

The mention of Tiva hit her like a punch in the gut. She tried not to let it show. "I'm not my sister," she said. "I can take care of myself." She stormed off. She heard Corso groan audibly as she left, before the sound of his heavy footsteps moved away.

She found herself walking towards the cockpit. She found Risha's legs sticking out from underneath the console where the galaxy map usually shone.

She heard Vette enter and disentangled herself from her work. "You okay?" she asked.

Vette sighed. She was hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. "I'm fine." She perked up when she saw some of the tools Risha was using. "What'cha working on?"

"The nav system's broken." Her voice grew muffled as she clambered back underneath the dash. "It's stuck on the same system. Every time we try to plug in new coordinates, it tries sending us somewhere else. I've had to route everything to manual steering until we can get this thing fixed."

Vette leaned against one of the side panels. "Anything I can do to help?"

A dirty hand poked out, gesturing aimlessly. "You can hand me that soldering iron."

She looked around in the general direction Risha was pointing until she found it, half-buried under some schematics. She handed it over.

Risha reappeared to take it. "Thanks." Then she vanished again. After a few minutes she spoke, her voice echoing in a strange way from the confines of the small metal box where all the navigational controls were housed. "Look, I heard what happened out there. I know Corso can be kind of a meat-head, but it's true what he said. We've got your back. Or at least I do, and anyone who has a problem with that can kiss my ass."

Vette sighed. "I know. It just…"

Risha popped out again, grinning. "Takes some getting used to, huh? Having people who care about you?"

She smiled wryly. "Yeah."

"I know the feeling." Risha grunted a little as Vette helped her up. She brushed the grease off her hands onto her pants. "Here I am, running a con for lost treasure and a crown…somehow I wind up settled down on a ship that isn't mine, sort-of married to its captain." She started rummaging through parts, putting some of them back in a purple bag that looked relatively new.

Vette gave her a funny look. "Sort-of?"

Risha rolled her eyes. "In all but name. It's a work in progress."

The two women looked up as the captain's voice barked out from the kitchenette.  _"Who finished my juice and then put the carton back in the fridge?!"_

Risha zipped up her bag. "Let's hope that does the trick." She stooped down to replace the panel on the galaxy console. "Just promise me one thing?

Vette nodded.

Risha fussed with one of the screws for a moment, then turned to face her. "I don't expect you to stick around here forever. You've got your Sith friend, and I've been out of your life for gods know how many years. I get that. But if life throws you for a loop and that doesn't work out...you're always welcome here."

For once in her life, Vette was speechless. Unable to think of anything appropriately grateful to say, she just nodded and gave Risha's hand a squeeze, smiling slightly.

* * *

Jaesa had never been to Korriban's spaceport. Larger vessels didn't normally use it; they docked at the orbital station while their passengers took shuttles to one of the landing pads scattered across the planet's surface. That could only mean they weren't using a larger vessel, which left few options. A requisition was unlikely—too easily traced by the rest of the Dark Council. The Fury was too large, docked off-planet. Ishtaa had enough money to live comfortably, but she wouldn't spend that much unless she had to. That left Vowrawn as the most likely option.

Her suspicions were confirmed as her transport passed through the doors of the hangar and she caught her first glimpse of the spacecraft: small but opulent, sleek with a white-gold surface polished to the point that she could see her distorted reflection in it as she passed. If she hadn't known better, she would have written it off as a diplomatic carrier.

That was probably the point, she realized a moment later.

She felt the warm flare of recognition that was Ishtaa before she saw her. Her master was almost unrecognizable in a traveler's cloak of heavy gray-blue fabric, the simplicity broken only by a golden bracelet and a pair of gold knot-work fastenings that held her cloak together just above her breasts. Her hair was simple too, caught back in a low bun and a single heavy plait that fell past her shoulder blades. She beamed.

"Jaesa," she said brightly. "You'll appreciate the vessel Vowrawn has gotten for us. He says the design and interior are Alderaanian."

At the sound of his name, the old Sith appeared. "Alderaanian influence. I added a few of my own touches." He turned his eyes on Jaesa. "Not nearly as fine as some of the places I'm sure you've seen as a former handmaiden to the nobility, but it will suffice for travel."

"I'm sure it's lovely," she said.

A small furrow formed between Ishtaa's eyebrows. "Are you sure you'll be alright, Vowrawn? They must know how often we speak. If they can't get a hold of me, surely they'll turn on you next."

"Don't worry, my dear. My eyes and ears will give me ample warning should any new conspiracies arise," he said confidently.

Ishtaa seemed unconvinced. "All the same," she said, "I'd feel more comfortable if you had somebody with you for protection. You're not the duelist you once were."

Jaesa's heart skipped a beat. Her conversation in the tombs came back to her, those unsettlingly pale eyes imprinted like a brand into her mind's eye. She could feel her heart burning and a new hollow in her abdomen aching.

She had to find out more about the man with the pale eyes—who he was, how he'd known so much about her, why she felt so strange around him. She'd wanted to tell Ishtaa about it, but somehow every time she tried, she ended up swallowing the words. They sounded too strange on her tongue, so much more suspicious and odd when she imagined herself saying them out loud. But in her head, it all made perfect sense. She had to see the man with the pale eyes again. She had to.

But she couldn't tell Ishtaa. Not yet.

"I could stay," she said.

Ishtaa and Vowrawn both turned to look at her in surprise. The furrow between her master's brows deepened. "Alone? Are you certain?"

Jaesa nodded. She could feel herself shaking. "I could use my talents to sense out any potential trouble before it occurs. Besides," she went on. The words were coming out faster and more easily now that she'd started. It startled her how natural the deception seemed. "Nobody will look at me twice as a bodyguard. I know how to play the unassuming handmaid. I stay by his side, and nobody will even consider that I'm a threat until it's too late."

Ishtaa frowned, but Jaesa could tell she was thinking about it. "What do you think, Vowrawn?" she asked.

The old man stroked the tendrils of his chin. "A cunning strategy," he said admiringly. "Combined with the power of my own guards, I think we should be quite safe here."

Ishtaa sighed. "I don't know…"

"Let Pierce and Broonmark stay too," Jaesa blurted out. "Two fewer people to keep hidden, Quinn will be happy to have them out of his hair, and they can provide the muscle I don't have."

Vowrawn laughed. "She has you beat, my dear. You'd better watch out! A mind like that, and she could usurp  _you_  one day!"

Ishtaa smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I suppose so." She bowed her head. "Very well. I will go with Quinn and 2V into hiding. You, Broonmark, and Pierce will stay to protect Vowrawn while he researches this droid that was surveilling me. In the meantime, keep up your training, and make sure you meditate daily."

Jaesa felt like celebrating, but she kept her response to a reserved smile. "As you decree, my lord."

At that, Ishtaa gave a genuine smile, though it did not erase all the sadness from her eyes.

An astromech droid chirped something shrilly at Vowrawn, and he wandered off. He was immediately replaced by Quinn, who came down the ramp and made his way straight towards Ishtaa. "We should leave as soon as possible, my lord. The longer we wait, the more changes I'll have to make to my calculations."

Jaesa caught her master's arm with a reassuring squeeze before she could protest. "Go," she said. "I'll be fine."

Ishtaa nodded. "Prepare the ship for departure, Captain," she said. "We'll be travelling three lighter than we planned."

Quinn raised his eyebrow slightly, but otherwise did not react to the news. "Yes, my lord." He headed back into the ship.

"Where are you going anyway?"

Ishtaa shook her head. "I don't know. Quinn said he knows of a safe location. He said it would be safest if he didn't tell anyone about it unnecessarily."

"Do you trust him?"

Her master looked discomfited for an instant. Then her features smoothed. "I do," she said seriously. Jaesa was taken aback by the certainty in her master's eyes, the gold flecks in her green eyes standing out like points of fire.

The gold points flickered as Ishtaa leaned in and reached under her apprentice's hair, drawing out the braid that hid underneath to hold it delicately between her fingers. Jaesa felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered how the pale-eyed man had done the same thing. Her master's hands were smaller.

"I suppose we'll need to remove this when I get back," Ishtaa said softly. "It doesn't seem right to keep calling you  _apprentice_  when you're doing so much on your own."

"We could consider this my final test."

Ishtaa laughed. "Yes, we could." There was a moment's hesitation before she opened her arms to embrace the girl. Her arms and hands were tight on Jaesa's back, like she was clinging on to something that she was afraid to let go. Jaesa closed her eyes and let herself fall into the hug. "May the Force be with you," Ishtaa said quietly.

"And with you," Jaesa said as they broke apart. The two smiled at each other, then slowly and respectfully, they lowered their heads into a mutual bow, hands folded before them.

The ship's engines whirred to a start. Ishtaa lifted her skirts to begin making her way up the ship's ramp. She shouted at Vowrawn over the engines. "Keep me updated on any new information!" Her eyes fixed on Jaesa. "And keep my apprentice safe!"

"I will!" Vowrawn called. "Safe travels!"

Ishtaa nodded her thanks.

Jaesa backed away and watched as the ship's ramp raised itself upwards, her master motionless until the ramp was almost closed. Then she turned and went into the ship.

The spacecraft turned around slowly as its engines whirred louder and louder, until finally the landing gear rose up and the ship hovered off the ground. Then, with one last roar of air that blew Jaesa's hair wildly around her face, the wings of the ship expanded completely, and it took off through the door of the hangar into Korriban's twilight sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

When Ishtaa entered the cockpit, she was surprised to find it uncharacteristically messy, with charts and readouts piled on every available surface. Quinn was immersed in navigation. He looked up at her when she entered, but the nod he gave her was brief, almost curt, before he resumed his work, looking back and forth between three different datapads.

“You’ve been very secretive about this whole thing,” she commented, staring out the window at the stars flying past.

“A necessary precaution, my lord. The fewer people who know where you’re going, the better.”

She sank into the seat beside him. “Where exactly are we going?”

He sighed heavily. “Without the support of the Council, we have to assume you’re not safe in Imperial space. I’m setting a course for Hersilia. It’s a small moon located between Velmor and the Roche system.” He spoke without looking up, his deep blue eyes darting distractedly from one panel to the next, glancing at readouts and performing rapid-fire operations on a datapad.

Ishtaa craned her neck at an awkward angle to read one of the datapads. She couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. She wasn’t even sure it was a language. “Hersilia? I’ve never heard of it."

“That’s the idea—or part of it, anyway.” He gently tugged the spare datapad away from Ishtaa and began entering some of its contents into his personal datapad. “You haven’t heard of it because it was removed from all official maps of the galaxy when it was colonized.”

She turned to look at him, surprised. “Removed? How’d you come to know about it?”

The steady stream of typing paused for an instant. “It’s…complicated."

If she’d been curious before, now it seemed important. She crossed her arms and turned her chair so she could face the captain. “I have time,” she said.

Quinn must have realized he’d backed himself into a corner. An inscrutable expression flickered in his eyes as he sighed and set down his calculations. He sat up in his chair across from Ishtaa, swiveling to face her. “Have you ever heard the story of Cipher 9?”

She narrowed her eyes, unsure where he was going with this. “Cipher. That’s a Sith Intelligence designation, isn’t it?”

“Imperial Intelligence at the time, but yes.”

“Which Cipher 9 are you talking about? The numbers are reused.”

Quinn shook his head. “Not Cipher 9. Nobody in their right mind would take on that title. Nobody even talks about it. Not after what she did. According to official records, she never even existed.

There was something dark running under Quinn’s voice like a live wire; Ishtaa thought she caught a glimmer of the fury he’d turned against Moff Broysc in the air. She managed to keep the shivers running up her spine to herself, turning the shuddering motion into a stretch as she eased herself further back into her chair. “What did she do?” she asked.

Quinn lowered his eyes, his intensity dimming as he averted his eyes from Ishtaa’s face. The story took on a more mechanical tone. “I never learned the full story, but among other things, she stood up against a member of the Dark Council…and won.”

“A Cipher? They’re not usually Force-sensitive.”

He glanced up from the floor. “She’s not,” he said simply.

Ishtaa frowned, baffled. “Then how did she—?”

He shrugged and made a face. “I don’t know. The Sith punished her horribly for it, of course.” His eyes softened for a moment. “I never learned the full extent of that either. But she won, and she survived. Eventually she managed to get hold of something big, something that allowed her to escape further punishment and effectively erase her identity. She’s still alive today.”

She shook her head. “That’s all very interesting, but what does that have to do with where we’re going?”

Quinn smiled. The sudden brilliance of it made Ishtaa’s stomach flutter. She forced herself not to look away even as the start of a blush warmed her cheeks threateningly. “I promised I’d find the safest place in the galaxy and take you there. That’s what I’m doing. Hersilia is where Cipher 9 lives. When she colonized it, she used her leverage to erase it from every official map in the galaxy. Even if it were on the maps, it’s incredibly secure.”

"How so?"

“First, the moon is located in a treacherous region near the Roche asteroid field and an unstable star. There are very narrow windows—both in time and space—where one can safely arrive in the moon’s atmosphere. Outside of those windows, the ship will either be smashed by asteroids or hit by a pulse of intense radiation. A single hit will knock out the ship’s systems. Two will kill everybody inside.”

“And second?”

“There’s a computerized defense system. Every ship that enters the atmosphere must have a unique authorization code or it will be obliterated. The cryptography involved is extraordinary. The codes are impossible to generate unless you know the algorithms involved.” He gestured to the heaps of clutter lying all over the navigation console. “Hence the, uh, mess.”

She stared at him, then at his calculations in dumfounded silence for several seconds before she gathered her wits. Part of her wanted to ask how on earth he could manage all that information without letting on what he was up to and while still performing his regular duties. But she already knew the answer to that: he was Quinn. She settled for a different question. “How do you know about all this?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She’s my mother,” he said.

She jerked up. “Your what?”

Just then, the console started pinging and Quinn gestured for silence. Ishtaa realized after a few seconds that she wasn’t going to get any more explanation out of him until they had safely landed, so she stayed quiet and let him work.

Quinn was silent throughout the jump from hyperspace and remained so as he navigated into the upper atmosphere. Ishtaa could see him clenching his shoulders up towards his neck in a way that she’d rarely seen him do before. She could feel the tension radiating off of him, growing more and more each second until she felt her own neck beginning to tense.

Then they broke through the atmosphere, and Ishtaa was offered a clear, up-close view of the moon. She almost gasped at the sight.

The surface was an explosion of color and texture: green hills dappled with pink, a line of low, snow-capped mountains, a bright lake that went from midnight blue to turquoise, so clear she could almost see the bottom...even the sky was stunning, the brilliant blue offset by wispy golden clouds and the fiery orange-and-gray planet that cast everything in a warm glow.

The sight seemed to dissolve some of Quinn’s tension; she glimpsed a faint smile as they grew nearer to the surface. But when they grew close enough to see the buildings--elegant domed structures made of pinkish marble and blue tiles--she felt some of his stress return.

She turned to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

He shook his head, looking flustered. “Nothing. Just...thinking about something.” He paused. “My lord...When we land, it might be best to let me get out first.”

She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Why?”

“An overabundance of caution, my lord.” He paused again. “Hopefully.”

She had to bite her lip to keep from saying something abrasive, but she didn’t argue. Whatever it was, she trusted his judgment...even if she wished he’d tell her about it.

The rest of their journey was unremarkable, and they eventually came to land on a small landing platform. Quinn navigated it as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

Ishtaa hung back as he lowered the ramp, watching him and peering outside curiously. A woman was waiting for them, though she could only see an elegantly embroidered skirt from her current angle. She noticed that Quinn took a deep breath before exiting their craft, a pulse of trepidation exploding outwards like electricity straight to the heart. But mixed in with the fear there was a joyful sense of comfort and reunion.

The woman called out as Quinn stepped down the ramp, her tone as refined as her clothing. “Malavai!”

“Mother!” Ishtaa dared to peek out a little farther, just enough to see Quinn embrace the woman and hold her for a few seconds. She still couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she could see her hair just sticking up over Quinn’s shoulder: sleek gray and silver that had probably been black once, pulled up into a bun without a single strand out of place.

Ishtaa stepped forward, far enough that she could see Quinn’s mother clearly. She was taken aback. She had assumed the former Cipher would have been pretty once, but she had no idea that the woman would still be stunning even in old age. The lines and the hollowing cheeks only served to emphasize her graceful bone structure, and lent an air of dignity to an expression that twinkled with unspoken mischief. She must have been jaw-droppingly beautiful 30 years prior.

Part of her wondered why that should surprise her, her thoughts turning to the handsome captain standing next to the elder woman. She pushed the idea away and cleared her throat, stepping all the way down into the light.

The light-hearted gleam in the former Cipher’s eyes vanished in an instant as she took in Ishtaa’s appearance, eyes lingering over the lightsabers. Ishtaa cringed as the woman’s deep blue eyes honed in on her green ones, giving her a look that would make most people wither into a heap of sobbing apologies. She was thrown back to Quinn’s office on Balmorra, the first time they’d met, and the way identical blue eyes had burned into her memory.

“If that’s your best you’re useless to me. I can shoot you dead with a clear conscience. Is that what you want?”

“Malavai, I didn’t realize you were bringing a guest,” the woman said coolly. She made the word guest sound like it was covered in slime.

Quinn blanched. “Apologies, mother. I would have given you some warning, but under the circumstances I had little choice. This is--”

“I know who she is,” the woman said in clipped tones. “Darth Ishtaa, the Emperor’s Wrath. I’ve heard of you.”

“And this is my mother,” Quinn interjected hurriedly, “Lady Melia Quinn.”

Ishtaa bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Lady Quinn pressed her lips together primly. “Yes, well…” She turned to smile--if such an expression could be called smiling--at Quinn. “I hadn’t prepared for another visitor.” She clapped. “2D, please show Darth Ishtaa to the guest quarters and prepare a room.” She glanced at Quinn. “You will be needing two rooms, won’t you?”

“Yes, that will do nicely, thank you,” Quinn ground out, sounding sick. “2V can carry our things.” He gestured curtly and it set about scuttling up and down the ramp, fetching trunks.

The 2D unit whirred up next to Ishtaa. “My lord, please follow me. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

Ishtaa glanced at Quinn. She could almost taste the tension, palpable in the air between mother and son. She asked him a silent question with her eyes.

He nodded.

She wasn’t satisfied, but she trusted Quinn to handle the situation better than she could. He’d always been more diplomatic than her...and after all, this was his mother.

* * *

 

Quinn watched Ishtaa leave. No sooner had he turned back around than his mother slapped him with a resounding ‘thwack.’

“Ow!” he said instinctively, putting a hand to his reddened cheek.

A second slap followed. This time he expected it and took the blow without protest. He still winced in pain when his mother put her arm down.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he mumbled.

“Have you lost your mind?!”

“Mother…”

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she hissed. “She is a Sith.”

“She’s my commanding officer, and a better one than most.”

His mother shook her head vehemently, her face going white with fury. “No. No, no,” she said. “This is not like one of your academy friends or Ovech. She’s not part of normal command. She is Sith, and as long as I am living in this galaxy, she is not welcome beneath my roof. I only sent her inside so I could speak to you. Get her out of here. Tell her the plan has changed and you need to go somewhere else. Not here.” She turned on her heel and stalked down the landing  pad.

He followed and caught her arm. “She saved my life.”

“I gave you life,” she snapped, yanking free from his light hold with much more force than was necessary. “The fact that she hasn’t taken it yet doesn’t impress me.” She continued walking.

Malavai took several long strides until he was in front of her, then he turned around to block her path. “You know that she has always gone out of her way to help me whenever she can. She allowed me to eliminate agent Voloren and Moff Broysc. She let me go rescue Ovech.”

“Allowed. Let,” she said, trying to sidestep him. “How generous of her, allowing my son to throw himself into danger when she could no doubt take care of it herself with those lightsabers of hers.”

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else to bring her. Mother, please, listen--”

“No, you listen!” Malavai stepped back in surprise, taken aback by his mother’s tone. The ice in her voice was beyond fury. He felt it in the pit of his stomach. He let her pass, too stunned to speak. The only time he’d ever felt such cold anger radiating off of someone was in the presence of a Sith. To feel it from a non-Force-sensitive--from _his mother_ \--was unnerving. “You have no idea what the Sith did to me,” she snapped. “They tore me apart and broke me even more when they put me back together. They damaged me and virtually everyone I ever dared to call a friend. And you bring one of them into my home?! I planned this world as a haven! A refuge for my family and loved ones, so the Sith could never touch them.” Her lip curled in disgust. “I never dreamed my own son would decide to go touch one of them.”

Quinn’s cheeks blazed red.

His mother’s eyes flashed furiously. “Do you deny it?”

“What Lord Ishtaa and I may have once had is no longer relevant,” he said tersely.

“Once?” She sounded surprised. “So it’s been broken off? How did you survive that one?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Mother, please. You know that I wouldn’t have brought her here if I had any other choice. But I couldn’t think of anywhere, of anyone else who could be trusted completely. I have to do everything I can to keep her safe. I can’t let…” He felt heat pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t even think of doing anything less. Not again."

His mother went quiet, her dark blue eyes studying him with an uncomfortable intensity.

He took a deep, bracing breath and closed his eyes. “Mother, I am begging you,” he said. “I swear to you that Ishtaa is not like any Sith you’ve ever met.” He opened his eyes. “I...the Empire cannot afford to lose someone like her.”

She thought about it for a moment. Then she sighed heavily. “I can’t deny my own son safety. And knowing how Sith politics work, whoever has it out for her isn’t likely to worry about collateral damage.” She paused again. “Very well. The two of you can stay for the time being.”

Quinn let out a breath of relief. “Thank you.” He hugged her.

She remained stiff and unresponsive. “Just promise me one thing,” she said, in a surprisingly soft voice. “Don’t let her use her lightsabers or the Force around me. I see enough of that in my nightmares. Don’t let them haunt my waking hours as well.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell her to put her lightsabers away. And I promise she won’t use the Force to hurt you or anyone else.”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	11. Chapter 11

After a few weeks of attempting to fix the ship with no sign that the navigational systems were any closer to  _working_ , Risha and Vette started to get desperate. They opened every corner and cranny of the ship that had parts even remotely connected to navigation, making minor repairs-none of which seemed serious enough to be the source of the problem, but that they were too desperate to ignore. The two of them ended up spending most of their days in the engine room or the crawl spaces connected to it. Sometimes they would end up in the same room, working side-by-side in a quiet dance and handing each other tools. But even with Vette's tiny frame and Risha's flexibility, there was only room for one in some of the crawl spaces, and so Vette found herself doing the gimbals and gyroscopes on her own, while Risha scurried in and out of a vent on the other side of the ship running tests.

Vette grunted as the door's greasy metal edges dug into her knuckles, the mechanism inside fighting hard to keep her from pulling it open. She growled and bent her knees, putting her all into one last pull. The door opened and rose over her head, groaning and squealing all the way. She wiped her hands off on a filthy rag before turning on the maintenance light and reaching into the pocket of her jumpsuit to find the smallest wrench she had. Then she took out a flashlight and started examining the first gimbal, squinting closely at everything to make sure it was still and level.

She heard footsteps behind her, but didn't immediately look up.  _There_ , she noted _, on the inner ring, something is coming loose._  Then, with a sigh, she turned off the flashlight and turned around, just in time to see Corso hiding something behind his back in a hurry.

He stared at her innocently. "Hi."

"Hey." She turned back to her work, gingerly gripping the mechanism so she could tighten one of the bolts without throwing the whole thing out of position.

Corso cleared his throat. "I, uh...I wanted to apologize about earlier. That wasn't right, me biting your head off about the Empire. And you're right, the Republic ain't perfect either."

She gave the bolt one last turn. "Glad to hear it," she said politely. She turned the flashlight back on and started looking at the next mechanism. It looked newer than the first.

She heard Corso shuffle closer. "I also wanted to say sorry for dragging you onto this ship. I shouldn't have done that. You're a hell of a woman, and you can take care of yourself. I shoulda seen that sooner."

Vette found that she had completely lost her train of thought. It took her a few seconds to realize what Corso had just said.

She turned around to look at him in confusion. "Um...thank you?"

Corso smiled. "I figured since my screwup got you stuck here in the middle of nowhere, he said, "I should make it up to you."

Vette shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got to see Risha again for the first time in…" She stopped to think for a second. "Forever," she said finally. "I think it all worked out okay."

"Maybe so. Still," said Corso, "I want you to have this." He removed his hands from behind his back to show what he had been hiding: a small parcel wrapped in shipping paper.

She unwrapped it suspiciously, but she relaxed when she saw a flash of something bright and silvery. "A blaster?"

Corso grinned at the ground bashfully. "Yeah. Modified R-30017 Aikion. I fixed her up myself. I call her Shiny."

Vette shot him another strange look. "You name your guns?"

"Only the good ones."

She turned it over in her hands, examining it. It  _was_ very pretty, and well-made from the looks of it. Some of the parts were obviously cannibalized from other models, but Corso had managed to fit them together so well it was like they'd been custom-made orders. Closing one eye, she extended her arm to fire a test shot at the far side of the room littered in junk.

Corso lurched forward to stop her.

"Whoa, no, sorry, can't fire that in here!" he announced. The momentary panic faded and he lowered his eyes. He suddenly noticed how tightly he was holding her, one arm around her waist and the other holding back the gun. He turned pink and let her go. He cleared his throat. "Standing orders," he said.

Vette lowered the blaster. "The captain has standing orders against firing weapons in the engine room?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"He has standing orders about firing weapons in a lot of rooms. Or hand-to-hand combat. Or staff fighting." Corso stopped, perhaps realizing how long his list was getting. "There's a lot of rules about fighting on this ship."

She made a weird face. "Must be something in the water."

Corso chuckled. "Yeah," he said, "or the captain just keeps bringing crazy women on-board."

Vette smirked and pointed the gun at Corso. He threw his hands up, but he was smiling too.

"I'm kidding!" he protested loudly. "Crazy in a good way! You actually think I'd be stupid enough to really insult you when you're holding that thing?"

"I don't know," she said wryly, "I haven't had a chance to test her out yet."

Corso let out a noise like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "Ouch. I'll have you know, she could fire the badges off a colonel without killing him at 500 yards."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked.

"You know," he said, laughing a little, "it's funny. There was this one time on Coruscant…" He remembered himself, and ran a hand through his dreadlocks. "Gah, that's not the point. The point is, she's a good blaster. And I want you to have her."

Vette dropped the teasing tone. "Thanks," she said seriously. "I appreciate it."

Corso shuffled his feet. "Yeah, well…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "You might be able to take care of yourself. Doesn't mean I can't make sure you have the best damn weapon at your side while you're doing it."

Vette smiled and felt her cheeks go warm. It dawned on her that she'd never actually seen herself blush, so she had no idea what color her cheeks were, or if they'd even change color at all. She had half a mind to ask Corso when the walkie-talkie at her hip beeped.

"Hey, Bluebird, you'd better get up here. We've got trouble."

She turned to gauge Corso's reaction. "You think something else broke?"

He raised his arms helplessly. "Don't look at me, I just shoot stuff. Ship problems are Risha's department."

She sighed. "We'd better get up there," she said, tucking Shiny into her belt. She reached up to pull the door to the gimbal compartment shut, but Corso beat her to it. "Easy," she warned him.

He closed the lid gently. "I can do easy," he said defensively. He turned off the maintenance light. "Come on, let's see what's going on."

When they reached the cockpit, they found all hands on deck: Guss was sitting on a crate and grumbling; Akaavi stood at the back with her arms crossed and shoulders drawn back, green eyes alert and tracking every new movement; Bowdaar, seated at Navigation, was warbling an argument at Dax, who was spinning in the Pilot's chair and didn't seem to like what he was hearing. Last was Risha, who was staring long and hard at the navigational readouts over Bowdaar's shoulder.

Akaavi was the first to notice Corso and Vette come in.

"What's going on?" Vette asked her.

"We're being followed," Akaavi answered evenly. "Affiliation and purpose unknown, but it looks Imperial. They've made no effort to contact us."

"I don't understand," Risha said suddenly. "I've tried everything I can think of and a few more things just for the hell of it. By all rights this ship should be working, but our nav systems keep defaulting to Rishi."

At the front of the cockpit, Bowdaar let out a particularly loud garble.

Dax rubbed a hand across his face and sat up straight. "What do you want me to do?" he snapped. "Shoot at them? They've left us alone so far, and I'm just as happy to keep it that way. We've got no idea what that ship is capable of."

"You recognize the ship, Imperial?" Akaavi asked Vette.

She shook her head. "I wish I did. I agree with you," she said, "it looks Imperial. But where it came from...Intelligence? The Sith? Some new military technology?"

Bowdaar looked up at the last part and warbled his displeasure.

"Maybe. It  _may_ benew technology, but we don't know that for sure!" the captain snapped. "We have no idea what they're doing here, and until that changes, I'm not going to shoot at them, Imperial or not." He turned to look darkly at Vette. "I'm assuming you've got nothing to do with this?"

She shook her head. "No. I haven't been in touch with anyone from the Empire except for the messages I left with Ishtaa. I trust her, she wouldn't send Imperial ships after us without some kind of warning."

"She's right." Corso leaned against the doorway. "If it was her they wanted, they'd be hailing us on every frequency telling us to surrender."

"Kid's got a point," Risha said lightly. "If they wanted something, they'd contact us."

Vette stepped forward. "What if I contacted them?"

Guss snorted. "What are you, nuts? And draw their attention?"

"It doesn't matter what kind of ship that is," Vette said. "If they're any kind of space-worthy, we'll be on their sensors by now. They know we're here. Let me try to contact them. If they are Imperial and looking for trouble, I might be the best chance you've got."

Dax looked to Risha. "Well?"

She sighed. "Can't say it sounds like a good plan, but I've got nothing better." She turned to Vette. "You know how to hail them on Imperial channels?"

She nodded.

Risha sighed. "Alright, let's give it a shot. Scoot over, Captain. It might go over better if they can see her face."

Dax slid his chair over to the left and gestured for Vette to step in. "All yours."

She closed her eyes for a second and steeled herself with a deep breath. Then she started punching in numbers, the combinations quickly returning to her as she ran through the known frequencies. It took her about halfway through the private military channels before she heard the familiar  _ping_ of a return signal.

"I've got them," she said. She gestured for them to move out of the camera's focus. "Stay quiet. I've got this."

She looked up at the flicker of heavy static, waiting for a face to materialize out of the noise. For several seconds she stood there, heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out the static hiss. Then a figure materialized-dark and unclear, but present. She could dimly make out a male figure and the grill pattern of a breather mask.

The voice that came through was deep and heavily modulated. "Who is this? How did you get this frequency?"

She straightened her shoulders. "My name is Ce'na. Most people know me as Vette. I am a servant of the Emperor's Wrath, Darth Ishtaa. Who are you and why are you following us?"

The sound of static rose to a roar. Vette covered her ear cones before she could stop herself, the sound was so loud. It was several seconds before the sound diminished and she was able to listen again. When she did, the voice was warped, the pitch and volume fluctuating wildly and without warning. Only one word in three made it through.

"You're breaking up," she said. "Can you please repeat that? I didn't copy."

"...SECTION seven...VIOLATION...official Sith business...prohibited...under arrest...crimes…"

Vette's eyes widened. She mashed down on the button to speak as though her life depended on it. "No, wait, listen to me! I serve the dark lord Ishtaa! I am here with her permission and under her protection! Whatever is going on, you must clear it with her or there will be hell to pay from the Emperor's Wrath!"

The face on the screen slowly dissolved into static, and the deep voice along with it.

"Hello? This is Ce'na, servant of the Emperor's Wrath, do you copy?"

There was a shriek from the pilot's seat followed by a refrain of high-pitched beeps.

Dax pushed Vette out of the way as he slid his chair back into position. "They're charging weapons." He cut the connection.

Bowdaar bellowed across the galaxy map. Dax glared at him.

"I  _know_ talking to them was a bad idea! Shut up and fly, you hairball!" He flipped several toggle switches and moved a slider. "Corso, get the guns! With this ship screwed up the way it is, steering's a two-man job. I need you to take that bastard out."

"On it!" Corso barrelled off down the hall, seconds before the Imperial ship fired off its first two rounds. The captain swerved, but the first shot still grazed the bottom of the ship, sending everyone who wasn't already seated staggering.

There was a loud  _thud_ and a bellow of pain from the other room. " _OW!_ "

Dax turned on Vette. "You check on those stabilizers earlier?"

"They could use a cleaning, but they work."

"This ship don't need to be pretty, it needs to fly." He flipped a switch. "Brace yourselves." Vette barely had time to press herself against the wall, hands wrapped tight around a pair of beams, before the ship turned over. The whole ship rattled, the boxes that were secured to the floor straining against their cables. Time seemed to stretch. Then all at once, Vette was upright again.

Something deep in the ship rumbled as it fell over. Corso sounded much farther away this time. "A little warning next time would be nice!"

Dax saw something. He froze. "Uh oh."

"What?" Risha asked warily.

Akaavi's eyes were fixed on the viewscreen. "More ships," she said. "They must have cloaking devices."

Guss groaned, holding his stomach and looking greener than usual. "I have a bad feeling about this." There was a shudder, and the ship started spewing out red bolts left and right.

Bowdaar yelped unhappily.

"Yeah, looks like we're surrounded." Dax blew out a puff of air softly. "Well, I don't see a whole lot of other options. Looks like we're going to have to jump."

"Jump?" Risha repeated. "To lightspeed?"

"You're crazy," said Vette blankly. She turned to Bowdaar. "Tell him he's crazy."

Bowie obliged with a gentle, prodding warble.

"Yeah, I know, you've been telling me for years. Don't see a lot of other options, though." The catain leaned over the back of his chair. "Guss, I could use those Jedi powers right about now."

Akaavi gave the captain a withering look. "You're joking."

"You got a better idea?"

"Any idea would be a better one than this."

Corso's voice came through on the console. "Hey, guys, you mind telling me what's going on up there? I can't take down this many ships this fast, something's going to jam."

Dax pushed the button to speak with one hand, his other still steering frantically to evade fire. "All hands on deck. We're making the jump to lightspeed."

"Where are we even going?" asked Risha. "Nav systems or manual, I need a location to plot a course."

Dax pulled up the galaxy map. "Pick something close."

Vette crossed her arms and strapped in to the nearest available seat. "Don't suppose there's any point in telling you it's impossible to make the jump from lightspeed without a computer?"

"Don't say impossible," Risha pleaded. "You'll just encourage him."

Corso staggered into the cockpit, breathless. He took the seat next to Vette and strapped in. "I thought you said nav systems were down."

"They are. We're jumping manually," Risha explained.

"We're what?! Captain, are you n-"

"Crazy? Yes. Keep up, Corso, we've already had this discussion." He turned. "Ready, Guss?"

"Knew I shouldn't've signed on with you weirdos," he answered.

"Vote of confidence. Thanks. Bowdaar, go."

The Wookiee let out one final protest, then he pushed the lever forward. There was a shriek as the stars in front of them appeared to stretch. Then they were off with a lurch.

"So far, so good," Dax said.

One of the alarms went off. Risha's cognac eyes scanned across the screen, the flashing red lights giving her a slightly manic look. "Captain, we're moving off our flight path."

"What?" He turned to glare at Bowdaar and Guss. "What did you do?"

"Me? I haven't moved anything," the Mon Calamari moaned defensively.

Bowdaar voiced his innocence as well.

"It's not them, captain," Risha said mildly. "It's the nav system. It's taking over and trying to send us to Rishi."

"Well make it stop! We have no idea what could be waiting for us."

"It sounds like a trap," said Akaavi.

Vette unstrapped and moved to join Risha.

The auburn-haired woman turned to look at her. "You ever see anything like this before?"

"No, this is just…"

"Bizarre? Yeah, I know." Risha turned to the captain. "Dax, I don't think we have much choice."

"You want us to go to Rishi, when someone has obviously set us up to go there?"

"I want us to not explode or crash on impact when we come out of lightspeed. Which is exactly what's going to happen if we do this blind. This ship is taking us to Rishi, whether we like it or not."

Dax glowered at her darkly for a moment.

"I have a bad feeling about this." He sighed. "Alright. Turn the nav systems back on. We're going to Rishi."

Risha closed her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed. Behind her, Vette pushed several buttons and switches in quick sequence.

"Nav systems re-engaged," she said.

Dax closed his eyes and covered his mouth and nose with his hands, dipping back in his chair. He let out a long breath. "Risha and Vette, check the ship's weapons systems. Corso and Akaavi, make sure all our blasters are in order. I don't like this. But whatever's waiting down there on Rishi, we'll be ready."

"Aye, captain."

* * *

**AN: Reviews always appreciated!**


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was blazing hot, rising in waves from every stone and every sand dune. Jaesa felt herself withering, dry heat cracking at her lips and tongue with every breath, even through the scarf she had wrapped around her head for protection. She closed her eyes as she walked, drawing on the Force with each labored step until she got into a rhythm. She walked that way for several minutes, the sun and the sand dimmed by the Force's protection as though she had put her head underwater. Then, all at once, heat changed to cool. Her eyes opened as she collided with a wall of still, cold air, and she looked around. She was in the tombs.

She stepped forward, conscious of how loud her breath and footsteps sounded ringing in the cavernous space. Her eyes followed the columns upward as she walked, in what seemed to be infinite lines of pale marble etched with strange signs she couldn't read. The light played strange tricks on her eyes: she knew the stone was pink and copper-colored, but in the cold and darkness it seemed unmistakably blue.

A melody came from the shadows, slow and sweet in a deep voice that rolled down her spine even as it rumbled along the bottom of its natural register. She stilled, holding her breath to listen to the wordless voice. The tune was dissonant and strange, but she felt like she'd heard it before, such that she could almost sing along…but every so often, a note would step out of place, like someone walking in the dark, unaware of a coming ledge.

She couldn't hold her breath any longer. She exhaled as quietly as she could.

The singing stopped. There was a pause, and then the dark voice spoke. "You've returned."

She swallowed, her breathing still shallow and uneven. "Yes."

"Good."

Jaesa hesitated, unsure how to continue, until finally she could bear the silence no longer. "That song you were singing," she said. "It seems so familiar."

He sounded almost amused. "I doubt you'd know it."

She furrowed her brow. "Why is that?"

There was a quiet shuffle of fabric slipping past stone followed by a soft  _thump_  as the fair-eyed man slipped down from the giant statue where he had been sitting into the light. He turned and began walking forward slowly, tossing an artifact back and forth between his hands. His steps were so graceful Jaesa could hardly tell where one started and the other began; he practically glided.

He was silent for a moment. "It's not very well-known."

"How do you know it?" she asked curiously.

"The same way that everyone comes to know that song." He tossed the artifact back and forth between his hands more audibly. "It's a slave song."

Jaesa blushed. "I'm sorry," she said, abashed.

The back-and-forth motion of the artifact in his hands stopped, and he set it down on a dais. He sounded puzzled. "Don't be. It made me what I am." He studied Jaesa intently, his pale eyes gleaming orange in the light reflected off the pillars. Yet the pillars still looked blue…

The man broke his stare. "The song is about a man who seeks freedom from slavery," he said.

Jaesa watched him closely. "How does it go?"

He shook his head. "I don't know the words, but I know the story." He began to pace, tracing his fingertips along the walls and pillars as he walked. "A man born in slavery wished to free himself and his wife, living in terror that one day his children will be born into slavery as well. He struggled for years, trying over and over again to break his chains and run away. But he couldn't. Until one day he found a dagger and killed his wife in her sleep, along with all the others who were chained to him. He cut off their hands so he could slip them free of the shackles that were holding him back." He stopped for an instant, perhaps sensing Jaesa's reaction. He looked at her horrified expression for a second, then resumed his tale. "When he had finished, he fled into the night, but not before going through the entire estate and strangling every single one of the slavers and taskmasters with his chains."

"That's awful," she burst out.

The pale-eyed man shrugged. "I never said it was a happy song. Still, the slave had a point. He defeated the masters. He was free. And he no longer had to fear that his wife or future children would be in slavery. In death, the wife was no longer a slave…to anything, not just the masters." His voice became wistful. "She was truly free."

Jaesa's lip twisted. "But she was dead," she said disgustedly.

The wistfulness in the man's voice evaporated. "It's not really about death," he said in a business-like tone. "It's about cutting away whatever binds you, even when it's difficult to see what's holding you back…even when it's hard to cut it away."

There was a flicker of recognition in the back of her mind. " _My chains are broken_ ," she said softly. "Like in the Sith Code."

The man smirked. "In a manner of speaking," he said. Then he turned and started walking away.

Jaesa frowned. "You don't agree?" she challenged.

He stopped and turned on his heel, mirth written in his ghostly irises. Jaesa suddenly felt very foolish.

She flushed again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. It's not…that would be crazy."

"The Sith code is not entirely wrong," he said evenly. "But neither is it entirely right. Much like the Jedi code." He stopped and tilted his head, seeming to notice her reticence. "Does that frighten you?"

"What?"

"Saying it out loud."

She didn't answer him, biting the answers that rose on her tongue. The man tutted.

"You mustn't let it hold you back. You must break it. Break your fearful chains and the ground will tremble before you, until nobody dares to question you."

Jaesa raised her chin. "Is that what you did?" she asked archly.

She had meant it as a challenge, but the man only seemed more amused. "Yes."

She crossed her arms. "You're a strange man."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Strange in a good way?"

She straightened her shoulders before answering. "I haven't decided," she said, with the most aloof tone she could manage.

The man let out a single, soft laugh. "I don't blame you," he said. He started walking again, but this time it was open: an invitation. Jaesa fell into step alongside him. "A strange man, singing in the tombs, speaking heresy and toying with the artifacts. No, I don't blame you at all for your hesitation. But I am very curious what will happen when you stop hesitating."

Jaesa considered her words carefully before she settled on an answer. "My mast—I mean,  _I_ decided it's safer to be discreet. To change the Empire from within."

"And just look how much the Empire's changed."

Jaesa scowled, irritation flaring in her heart. "We've saved millions of lives, made countless decisions to spare people and provide alternatives to injustice," she said indignantly. "We're making waves."

"Half measures," the man said dismissively. "Reactions." He shook his head. "No. The Empire is filled to the core with rot. I can smell it, burning in my nostrils. If anything is ever going to change, the rot must be purged. Permanently. You must create anew. "

"What about the Jedi?"

"What about them?"

Jaesa stopped walking. The pale-eyed man didn't.

"If you hate the Sith code so much, why don't you join the Jedi?" she asked.

"You left," he pointed out, making an about-face so he walked slowly towards her.

She pursed her lips. "That was…" She trailed off. "I couldn't live with it anymore. All the deception. The lies. I sought peace, but it was all on the surface. When I looked beneath…"

"Chaos." The man stopped in front of her. She looked at him, recognition flaring in her heart as she met his eyes.

"Yes," she admitted.

The man crossed his arms, looming into her personal space. "The chaos terrifies you doesn't it?"

She could feel herself shaking even as words started spilling freely out of her mouth. "I can't feel that again," she said weakly. "When I looked into my master's eyes burning, something of him went inside me, and I can't get rid of it." She suddenly came to her senses, pale amber-lit eyes staring into her own as she remembered where she was. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I shouldn't be telling you this," she said.

The man stopped her from leaving, his hands gripping her firmly around her shoulders.

"Jaesa," he said tenderly. She froze, mesmerized, as he moved his hands to her face, palms flush against her cheeks. Everything else seemed to slip away. There was nothing except the easy warmth on her face and the uneasy fire in his eyes. "Be free," he whispered. Then, so slowly she couldn't help but close her eyes, the man leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. She was trembling when he stopped.

"I still don't know your name," she said shakily.

"And you don't need it." He drew away from her, fingertips lingering on her skin until he had stepped out of arm's reach. "It's better this way. Less risk."

She gradually regained her senses. "Risk of what?" she asked. She felt like she had been asleep for too long.

The man strolled over to where he'd set the artifact down. "You mustn't tell anyone what we've been talking about," he said firmly. "No one. Not a soul."

Jaesa nodded. "I understand."

"Good." He picked up the artifact and pondered it in the palm of his hand. "Not everyone will."

* * *

**AN: Two for one today! Reviews always make my day!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor spoilers for the Sith Inquisitor and Imperial Agent lines.  
> Mentioned/implied past character deaths.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"The guest rooms are this way. I will need a moment to prepare them for you, as you arrived on such short notice. There is a small library down the hall where you may pass the time, if it interests you."

Ishtaa thanked the droid quietly and let it pass by, followed by 2V carrying her bags. When both disappeared into what appeared to be a large, well-lit room, she continued down the hallway, looking around curiously.

Throughout the house, there seemed to be a new, exotic trinket to study or admire in every corner. The hallway was no exception. There was a statue on a pedestal, a ritual knife, an ancient mask hanging on a wall…some of the artifacts were so strange she couldn't even guess what they were, but they had a curious beauty nonetheless.

With the constant stops and starts, it took her a very long time to make her way to the end of the hall. It was only then that she realized there were two doors, and she hadn't bothered to pay attention where the droid had pointed. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and willed herself to be pulled towards whichever of the two rooms was more bookish. She pressed a hand to the door on the right. It slid open at her touch.

It wasn't the library. It was a bedroom.

Ishtaa started to leave, but then something up above caught her eye. She stared up in wonder. The entire ceiling was a canopy of rich, dark blue. Painted on top, in spidery, elegant gold, the points of stars branched out and connected into a map of the night sky. She found herself wondering what world this map was from—the level of detail was too perfect to be anything but a replica of a particular sky. She didn't recognize it.

Lowering her gaze, she crossed the room to the wall to see if she could figure out where the stars were from. No sooner had she taken a step than she tripped. She stumbled before catching herself nimbly against the bedpost, glancing down at the offending objects: a pile of books.

Ishtaa smiled to herself. So she hadn't been entirely wrong about the room having  _books_ , it just wasn't the library she'd been looking for. She crouched down to pick them up off the floor, flipping through the titles idly as she rose. A book about the Imperial Guard, a collection of legends about the Dread Masters, three books about various war heroes—

Her smile widened. She had a hunch who had inhabited this room. Then she turned over the last book. Her jaw dropped as she read and then re-read the title in disbelief. It was a book of  _poetry_. Setting the other books down, she flipped through the pages, pausing when she encountered a picture or some words that jumped off the page.

Before she knew it, she found herself perched at the edge of the bed, reading entire sections. She'd heard many of the names, but they'd always been dry old histories that she sleepwalked through during her brief school years. These epics felt bright and new. She felt like she'd opened a window in one of the old, dusty classrooms to reveal a brilliant jungle or a sea of many-colored lightsabers.

She turned the page, but where she expected to find words, there was an elaborate ink and watercolor picture that took all her breath away.

It was  _her_. It wasn't actually her, but it was a woman with a lightsaber, beautiful and strong, sweeping across the page in bold lines like a fierce dancer. For a moment, it didn't even matter that the woman in the drawing was blond and dark-skinned, and about a million times more beautiful than she was. For an instant, she was looking at herself as someone else would see her.

She slammed the book shut with a guilty ' _thud_ ' when she heard the door shift. 2D stepped into the room.

"Your quarters are ready, my lord," it informed her.

She stood up and dropped the book on the bed with its fellows. "Thank you, 2D." She straightened and walked out of the room with need to look embarrassed on the droid's behalf. No need to be embarrassed at all. She had gotten lost, that was all.

She had just started to open the door to her room when she heard the rumble of a ship overhead. She looked up, then over to the droid. Any lingering schoolgirl feelings vanished as she stared at the droid coldly. "I thought this place was secluded."

"It is, my lord. Entering the atmosphere requires authorization, which can only be obtained through an elaborate—" Ishtaa gestured to be quiet and strode past the droid, finding her way much more confidently through the halls as she retraced her steps back to the landing platform.

She encountered Quinn and his mother, looking equally preoccupied, in the parlor. They didn't seem to notice her.

"I thought you said Father was on one of his diplomatic missions."

"He is," Lady Quinn said impatiently. "But seeing as he's the only other person alive besides you who has authorization, I don't know who else it could be…" Small worry lines creased her forehead, the space between her eyebrows, and pressed at the corners of her mouth. "I hope he's alright."

Quinn put a hand on his mother's shoulder reassuringly. He remained still for a few seconds before he turned and his eyes fell on Ishtaa. Lady Quinn turned her attention as well. She glared at Ishtaa for an instant before breaking away to check on the security panels.

"My lord," he started, approaching Ishtaa.

"I heard," she said. "What about Vette and Jaesa? You gave them temporary access codes."

He shook his head. "The temporary ones set off an alarm when they're used, to allow us some time to engage the defense systems if anything goes wrong or they fall into the wrong hands. This is one of the permanent ones."

Lady Quinn finished with the security panel. "It's him," she said to Quinn, then she walked quickly onto the landing platform, raising her skirts so they didn't trail on the floor.

Ishtaa began to follow, but Quinn stopped her.

"My lord," he said, "there's something I have to warn you about."

"What, does your father hate Sith too?"

He grimaced. "No, it's not that. He's…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I told you he was a diplomat, yes?" Ishtaa nodded. "Well, I'm afraid that wasn't entirely accurate. He's a bit more than that now. For some time, actually."

" _Malavai_ ," Lady Quinn called. "Come say hello to your father!"

He opened his mouth to continue explaining, then thought better of it. He sighed. "No time. I suppose you'll see for yourself. Just, erm, promise you won't use your lightsabers?"

Ishtaa gave him a strange look. "I'll behave if he does," she said warily. Quinn rolled his eyes, apparently not in a mood for humor, then gestured for her to follow him.

She peeked around his shoulders curiously as they made their way down the platform. From this distance, she couldn't see what the fuss was about. Quinn's father appeared to be an ordinary human man, with sleek, deep gray hair that looked to have once been Quinn's color. It wasn't until he broke from his wife's embrace and turned around that Ishtaa saw the oddity.

His eyes were completely black.

Her eyebrows shot up in recognition. "He's a—"

Quinn gestured feebly. "I'll explain later," he whispered.

There was no time to say anything more, as Quinn's father had spotted them.

"Malavai!" he said, his voice jarringly melodic. "It is good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Father," Quinn all but mumbled. The embrace between them was brief and uncomfortable. Quinn's father seemed to sense that something was amiss. He stared hard at his son like he was looking for the source of the problem. Then his eyebrows shot up, and he turned to look at Ishtaa.

"And you must be Darth Ishtaa," he said warmly. "We have heard much about you." He bowed politely.

She was taken aback by how gracefully he moved, and how genuine he sounded. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, feeling very unbalanced.

Quinn's father laughed at that. "Thank you, but we don't believe an acquaintance has yet been made. We are Vector Hyllus, Dawn Herald of the Killik clans."

"I hadn't realized the Killiks had a system of government."

"We don't. Not in so many words. But we do have a tribal structure, and our place within the Empire requires that we maintain diplomatic relations with other governments." His smile faltered. "Or attempt to, in any event."

Lady Quinn took his hand in hers. "What happened?" she asked. "You said the negotiations would last almost a month. You've scarcely been gone a week."

Vector looked grim. "There were...complications. We are still somewhat shocked by the events that transpired. Perhaps it would be best if we had a few moments to gather our thoughts...and if we could relay this news while sitting down."

Lady Quinn snapped out of her concerned fussing and became businesslike, in a change of mannerism that Ishtaa found unsettlingly familiar. "Of course. I'll have the droids prepare another plate. We were just about to eat."

Vector nodded wordlessly and followed his wife inside. Ishtaa made to follow as well, but Quinn stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"My lord, a moment?" She acquiesced, and he led her out of sight of the wide-windowed entryway, down a side path lined with trellises that spilled vines covered in delicate white flowers everywhere.

She crossed her arms when they reached their destination, an alcove with a small fountain set into the wall. Quinn steeled himself with a breath, but Ishtaa interrupted before he could launch into whatever (doubtless unpleasant) speech he had prepared. "Is your father Force-sensitive?"

"I…" He made a very confused string of faces in quick succession. "What?"

"The way he was looking at you, like he could actually see something written in your mind, and then he acted like he'd figured it out-whatever  _it_ was-and looked at me. It was almost like he could sense your feelings."

"Oh." Quinn turned a very becoming shade of pink. "No." He chuckled. "No, that's just my father, the Joiner. He can see-well, he calls them auras. From what I've gathered, I believe he's actually sensing pheromones that send subtle signals about human interaction. The Killiks do something similar among their kind. I was concerned that you might react poorly to finding out that he was a Joiner without any warning. He sensed my concern and identified you as the source...indirectly, of course."

Ishtaa uncrossed her arms. "Well, if it's any consolation, I have no qualms about your father. He seems to be a nice man."

Quinn bowed stiffly. "I'm sure he would be honored that you think so."

She raised her eyebrows momentarily and turned her gaze to the ground. "Not sure about your mother, though."

"Yes, about that…"

Ishtaa looked up, her eyes hooded with exhaustion. Just thinking about the woman's obvious dislike was tiring. "What?"

He braced his hands at his sides. "My mother would like to confiscate your lightsabers and keep them in safe custody while you are on this planet."

Ishtaa frowned, but said nothing. She suddenly felt very hollow, except for the pit of her stomach that had turned to lead. "I see," she said quietly.

"It's nothing personal. Were it my decision, I would never ask you to do such a thing. But she…" Quinn sighed exasperatedly. "She's a very hard-headed woman. And she's prejudiced when it comes to Sith. I told her every way I could think of how  _different_ you are, but to no avail. Her mind is made up."

"The fact that I'm not killing her for her insolence should be proof enough that I'm not like other Sith," she snapped, though she immediately realized how harsh she sounded and felt her posture shrink.

"Please, my lord." The look in his eyes tugged at her heart despite her best efforts to remain obstinate; she softened slightly. "You know I wouldn't ask if I thought there was anything else I could do. But this is the safest place I can think of, and she just can't forgive the fact that you're Sith." He grimaced. "I know my protection is meaningless to someone as powerful as you, but I promise that I won't let anything happen to you. As long as I have anything to say about it, you'll be safe, with or without your lightsabers."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. With only a moment's hesitation, she reached into her travel robes and withdrew the twin sabers, extending them to Quinn with open palms. "Try not to damage them," she said. "I was never very good at fixing those things."

Quinn let out a little huff of laughter. He took them from her and pressed them to his chest. "No better than I am at using them, I imagine."

She grinned at the thought, trying to imagine perfect Imperial Quinn using the Force or dancing around with a lightsaber. Then she remembered their lone sparring session, the only time she'd ever seen Quinn fight without a blaster. She remembered how it ended…

He cleared his throat. "Well, I'd best put these away somewhere safe before dinner. Excuse me."

Ishtaa watched him go with a twinge of regret. She wondered what might have happened if he'd stayed, only to have the rational part of her brain take over just when her heart started fluttering.  _He stopped seeing you after the incident with Baras. The only interest he's shown you since then is that of a regretful man trying to make up for a mistake. He cares for you as a captain should care for the Sith who commands him. Nothing more. It's foolishness to think he had any other sort of feelings towards you, before or after the betrayal._ But she couldn't stop the replay of images in her mind's eye. She was sure she had catalogued every touch and every moment of closeness between them since the incident, every time she could feel the heat of his body through his uniform or smell the mint on his breath.

She shook the thoughts away and lifted the hem of her robes as she made her way along the path back to the landing pad, walking too fast to take notice of the flowers as she brushed by.

* * *

The dinner was delicious, if awkward. Ishtaa had never tried most of the dishes the droids brought out before her, but she would have to make a point of searching for them again. Next time, perhaps, she would enjoy them properly, instead of taking slow, rigid bites and trying to remember Vowrawn's lessons on when each fork was supposed to be used. She was immensely grateful for the presence of Quinn's father, who had insisted in very short order that Ishtaa call him "Vector," and managed to fill the silence with anecdotes about the various places his travels had taken him and the cultures he'd seen. Even with Lady Quinn giving her dirty looks throughout the meal, Ishtaa began to feel more at ease as the dinner went on, even laughing occasionally when Vector told an amusing story.

It was only after the last dish had been taken away and the droids had gone for caff that the mood once again became serious.

"You said there was news?" Lady Quinn prodded.

Vector's face fell. "Yes. And we are afraid that none of it is good."

"You're home so soon," she pressed further. "What happened?"

Vector set his glass down and let his arm rest on the table. Ishtaa noticed that it was shaking. He stammered slightly when he began speaking. "The negotiations have been terminated. Permanently."

Lady Quinn's eyes widened. "Terminated? But the deal you've been working on. I thought—"

"So did I," Vector said hollowly. His use of the singular pronoun didn't escape Ishtaa's notice. His voice broke. "It gets worse. The Empire has decided to break off all diplomatic relations with the Killiks."

Ishtaa tensed. She felt Quinn do the same alongside her.

Quinn's mother was flabbergasted. "What? Why? After all these years…"

"We do not know," Vector said quietly. "But it is disturbing to say the least. We had hoped that the movement within the Empire to disassociate from other species was fading. It appears we were mistaken."

Lady Quinn's eyes narrowed, and she turned to look at Ishtaa. "You know something about this."

Quinn jerked in his seat. "That's not—"

Ishtaa gestured for him to be quiet and shook her head. He scowled at his mother, but didn't say anything else. Ishtaa folded her hands in her lap. "This is terrible news, Lady Quinn, but it is  _news_. Diplomacy is not my area of expertise. This is the first I've heard of the issue." She frowned. "But I can't say I'm surprised. There have been strange occurrences lately within the Empire's ranks."

"Indeed." Vector shifted in his seat. "That is part of the reason we returned here instead of proceeding to Dromund Kaas to plead the matter. At present, the Empire has more pressing matters to deal with than Killik diplomacy…at least from their perspective."

Ishtaa's brow furrowed. News of the Dark Council rarely reached the outside world, except for announcements of death and succession. It was unlikely that a Force-blind diplomat would know about the recent strangeness surrounding the council. He must have heard about something else. "Like what?" she asked.

"For one thing, nearly a third of the Imperial Fleet is unaccounted for by official records."

Quinn paled. "That's impossible. That many ships couldn't just disappear."

"Not without someone noticing," Ishtaa added. "If we really lost that many ships, the Republic would have made news of it. It wouldn't be a secret very long."

Lady Quinn's eyes glimmered with understanding. "You think they're on a covert mission," she said to her husband.

Vector nodded his assent. "It does seem the most likely option. There's more." Creases formed around his eyes. "We've lost contact with Talos."

That got Quinn's attention. His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Oh, sweetheart…"

Ishtaa turned to Quinn, confused. "Who's Talos?"

His brows furrowed, but he recovered himself. "Lieutenant Talos Drellik - family friend. He was an archaeologist with Imperial Reclamations Service. Father met him through diplomatic work—the Lieutenant offered his expertise on occasion, disputes over antiquities and that sort of thing. He used to teach Imperial History when I was at the Academy. He was a good man." He turned to his parents. "I thought he left Reclamations and started working for a Sith. How did he go missing?"

"We don't know. He wrote several letters recently. He couldn't give specifics, but the Sith he was working for was granted some position on Korriban. He promoted Drellik and assigned him to research some artifacts in recently excavated temples, as well as those taken from Tython." The lines between his eyebrows deepened. "He seemed very excited in his most recent letters, something about a near-breakthrough. We expected to get a flood of letters once he solved whatever puzzle he's working on. But we have gone three months now without a word from him. When we asked after him at the meetings, they said he was unaccounted for."

Lady Quinn had a faraway look in her ocean-colored eyes. Mingled together with the slanting light of early evening shining into the dining room, it made her look the very portrait of tragic dignity: a queen on her throne, forlorn at an audience that ended in bad news. "Unaccounted for," she repeated dimly. Her mouth closed and tightened. She shut her eyes for a moment, taking a shuddering breath that made her drop earrings tremble. Then, in thick tones: "And how would you account for him, oh mighty Wrath?"

Ishtaa could make no answer. Lady Quinn waited for her to respond, her eyes-shining and now rimmed with red-fixed on Ishtaa, pierced to kill. She realized Ishtaa was not going to answer, and removed the napkin from her lap in a graceful motion that was immediately undercut by the way she clenched it in her hand and rested it upon the arm of her chair. Lady Quinn chuckled darkly. "Typical. The glorious Sith Empire cuts down another one of its finest, and the Emperor's very own enforcer can't even answer for it."

"We don't know yet that he has been 'cut down,'" Vector reminded her in a soft voice. "Perhaps it is best we wait until we know the truth before we assign blame."

"Yet?" Lady Quinn scoffed. "Listen to yourself. You know as well as I do that it's only a matter of time before we see his name in some half-hidden obituary, his body dumped unceremoniously in the nearest Imperial cemetery without so much as a warning so that no one will have time to mourn. So no one will think to ask whether there  _was_ a body to bury."

Vector tried to intercede. "Melia, dearest…"

She snatched her hand away before he could touch it. "No," she shouted. Her chair made a loud noise as she pushed it back and stood. "I'm done with this pretension. I've spent too many years of my life telling other people's lies, wearing masks I didn't choose. I will not be silent, not one moment longer." She turned to glower at Ishtaa. "Your people murdered my friend." She spat the word  _people_ like it was venom in her mouth. "Just as they have so many others. And every time I demand an answer or dare to say 'why?' I am answered with silence."

Quinn hadn't looked up from the table since his mother began speaking. He kept his eyes down still as he spoke to her. "Mother-," he began quietly.

"Be quiet, Malavai." Her son's voice had an effect, however. She did not stop, but she sat down, her voice quieter than it had been before. It was no less bitter for it; the poison was simply less diluted. She returned her attention to Ishtaa. "I have given everything to the Empire, whether I wanted to or not. I gave up my identity, my relatives, my home. I have lost friends and family. I have been violated in the deepest ways possible." Tears began rolling down her cheeks, her voice darkening to match. "They took everything from me. I couldn't even keep my mind. They robbed me of my freedom." Her jawline shook.

Ishtaa softened for an instant, feeling a stab of pity for the woman. Beneath the anger and accusations, she felt a deeply wounded presence. She saw it now: a scared little girl, holding a gun for the first time, screaming when she realized  _she_ had pulled the trigger.

Then the image was gone. Lady Quinn had composed herself."What will you take now?" she asked hollowly. "My husband? My son?" Her expression twisted with disdain. "It's only a matter of time before he gets tangled in one of your power plays." Ishtaa froze. Lady Quinn noticed, and took it as confirmation. "Oh yes," she said. "I know how these things work. I know what they do with obstacles to power in your world."

Ishtaa pled with silent eyes for her to stop, but Lady Quinn would not relent.

"Tell me," she said, her eyes now frosty seas, "when you finally take my son from me, will you have the decency to look him in the eye, or will you stab him in the back?"

Something slammed across the table. She felt both Vector and Lady Quinn turn to look, but Ishtaa couldn't move. All she could do was sit perfectly still and try to quiet the lump in her throat that threatened to turn into a wail. "Mother," Quinn snarled, "that is  _enough_."

She couldn't take it any longer. With her chin held high, she slid back her chair and stood up. "Excuse me," she said quietly. She dropped her napkin on the chair, then walked out of the room as fast as she could without running. She could feel the cool air of the balcony through the open doors when the first and only tear she would shed slid down her cheek.

* * *

Malavai watched his lord leave the room in a hurry, following her retreating form with a mournful expression until the last fluttering trail of her skirt disappeared from sight. He sat there for a moment, trying to control his impulse to run after her and hold her tight.

His anger returned in a hot, writhing surge. He glowered at his mother. "Oh, well done," he snapped. Then he threw down his napkin and pushed his chair away from the table roughly, storming out after Ishtaa as he  _fumed_ over his mother's gall.

He found her standing ramrod straight at the balcony's edge, looking out over the expanse of the valley with her back to him. Her posture gave him pause. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, wondering whether it might be best to leave her alone.

He decided he couldn't stay away.

He approached her timidly. "I'm sorry."

"She's right," Ishtaa said softly.

Quinn looked at her, flabbergasted. "What? Don't be ridiculous." His tongue got out ahead of his brain. He backpedaled at the impropriety of his word choice. "I mean... " He sighed. "My lord, you had nothing to do with what happened to Talos. Whatever happened to him."

Ishtaa held her arms to her chest, wrapping the edges of her outer robe around her-whether for comfort or warmth, he couldn't say. "I call myself Sith." The sound of her voice broke his heart, her usually rich, confident tones now small and shaken.

He tried to be confident for her. "So do I," he said boldly. "The mightiest Sith I ever met. And the most honorable."

She scoffed. "An honorable Sith." In her fit of scathing, she sounded a bit more like herself. "That's a bit like saying a clean puddle of slime." She sighed heavily. "How can I consider myself one of them?" she said, snapping. "Knowing what they've done. Knowing what they're doing right now, at this very moment."

Quinn's brow furrowed. He leaned against the balcony with one arm, propping himself up so he could look at her directly. "You are not responsible for the crimes committed by others, just because they happen to fall into the same category as you," he argued.

Her lips twisted into something like a smile. It made her look like she was about to cry. "Aren't I?" She released her hold on her robes, instead twisting the hem of one of her sleeves between her fingers. "How can I call myself one of them, knowing the horrible things they've done? Knowing the things they're doing now?" She turned to look at him, her green eyes dark. "How many undeserved deaths have I been a part of? How many lives destroyed because I don't have the guts to admit…" She broke off suddenly, looking at him then looking down at her hands.

Quinn straightened. "Admit what?"

She let go of her sleeves and braced her palms against the stone edge of the balcony. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if we're on the right side. Whether the Empire might be wrong."

Quinn stared at her. There it was, direct and out in the open. As soon as she said it, he knew it was true, and he realized that he'd known it for a long time, maybe as long as he'd been in love with her. All the lies and justifications he told himself fell away. She wasn't part of the Empire. Not really. She was...He had no words for what she was. She was part of something else altogether. He didn't know what, but for the life of him he knew that he wanted to be part of it.

Ishtaa was looking at him nervously. "Say something," she said desperately.

"I…" The first attempt died in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to say what he was feeling. This was  _madness_. Even if he had the words to describe this, this...whatever it was he could taste on the tip of his tongue, he was an Imperial officer. To go against that…

He started again.

"The Empire is my home. Since I was a child, I've looked at the Empire and seen peace, stability...hope for a galaxy united in the pursuit of perfection." He saw the glimmer of hope that had shot into Ishtaa's eyes flicker and die. His conscience twisted. Suddenly the words he'd been saying tasted like copper. "But I have seen less noble things," he admitted. He thought of his betrayal, the quick play of confusion, then shock, then hurt across her face when he revealed to her his deception. He swallowed. " _Done_ less noble things."

Ishtaa twisted her hands together. "I shouldn't have brought you into this," she said. "I'm talking treason." She laughed shakily. "I wouldn't blame you if you decided to turn me in for talking like this."

He reeled back a little in surprise, looking at her strangely. "I wouldn't do that," he said, a tad defensively.  _Haven't I proved my loyalty by now?_ The lingering sick feeling answered that question. He licked his lips, straining for the words to reassure her. "You are my general," he said. "I will back you up."

She smiled at his words, the apples of her cheeks making her eyes crinkle adorably. Too quickly, her face fell, and her momentarily delighted expression became crestfallen. She lowered her gaze.

"Ishtaa," she said quietly. "You called me Ishtaa once."

His heart ached. All of a sudden he couldn't bear to look at her. "Once, perhaps," he said. "Things have changed."

"Have they?"

He raised his eyes to find her looking at him questioningly. She was so close that he could see the individual rays and flecks of light patterned across her irises. His eyes fluttered down to her lips. How long had it been since he'd been close enough to feel her breath mingle with his?

"Master Malavai! Lady Melia wishes to speak to you…"

The sound of the droid was like the slap of a bucket of ice water. Quinn straightened immediately and turned to face the noise, scowling.

"What?"

"You should go to her," Ishtaa muttered. "I doubt she's in a good mood."

Quinn stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, then he let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-groan. "You're right. I'd better go and find her." He cleared his throat. "I'll, um... I'll leave you be," he said, and he stalked after the droid before he could make even more of an ass out of himself.

* * *

Her eyes and cheeks burned with shame as Quinn left. She felt like an idiot. Why would she say something like that? Of course things had changed. Quinn worked for Baras in those days. The real Quinn would never have called her that. It would be improper to use her first name. She should have realized back then the truth: it was all a ruse. And now here he was, supporting her in earnest, and she was throwing herself at him like some sort of swooning…

 _Ugh_. She couldn't even finish the thought in her head. Desperate for something to do, she reached into the folds of her  _obi_ to retrieve her holocommunicator and began dialing in the access codes to secure the line and get her message past Lady Quinn's defense systems. It was just as well, she told herself. She hadn't spoken to Vowrawn in days; she ought to have checked on his progress by now.

The series of beeps was cut short as Vowrawn answered, promptly as he always did. She waited several seconds for the crackle of static to dissipate before she could make out the shape of the aging Sith.

"Ah, good to hear from you, Wrath. I was beginning to worry the two of you had been intercepted." There was a flurry of fuzz and noise then the image cleared. "Where is Captain Quinn?"

"Inside," she said. "He had business to attend to."

"Of course." Vowrawn sounded amused. "Always a busy bee that one."

Ishtaa set the com down in front of her so she could rest her arms against the balcony. "I take it you've been equally busy?" she asked.

"I have indeed," he said, "though with very little progress, I'm afraid."

Her mouth tightened. "That's unfortunate," she said, faintly disappointed. Not that she had expected Vowrawn to get to the bottom of the matter so soon, but she didn't relish the thought of imposing on Lady Quinn any longer than she had to.

"I did, however, make contact with my friends in the Gree Enclave," he added. "With any luck, they should be able to discover something from the remnants of the droid you obliterated."

"I'll try not to be so thorough next time." She paused, not sure how much she should let on to the old Sith. "Have you heard anything from Jaesa?"

"Little and less. The lieutenant and Broonmark seem to be enjoying themselves and the wildlife, when they're not busy guarding me. But your apprentice has been very quiet as of late. I suspect she's not sure what to make of me."

"She can be a bit shy," Ishtaa agreed. "Is she there?"

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid. She's been spending a great deal of times in the tombs. Says she finds them soothing." Vowrawn chuckled. "How anyone could find the company of ghosts and the glorious Sith dead to be anything other than disquieting is beyond me."

She exhaled a laugh. "I'm with you on that one." She couldn't say she was surprised, though. Not that she would risk telling Vowrawn, but Jaesa had always remained a Jedi at heart. It wasn't terribly unexpected that she'd seek out the old artifacts that had been taken from Tython.

Still…

"Let me know if you hear anything from her. And thank you for all your help."

"It is my pleasure," he said, with a slight bow.

One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Take care of yourself," she said seriously.

"I shall endeavor to do so. Be well, Wrath."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

Jaesa kept her head bowed and her eyes shut against the gusts of wind that periodically swept across the planet's surface. Even without looking, she could feel the night desert all around her-cool and blue and alive, whispering with promise. The very air was alight. She could feel it when she breathed: something was different on this night. Slowly, without opening her eyes, she stood, reaching out with one arm to unconsciously mirror the reaching within as she extended outwards in the Force, searching for the source of the light. She could almost reach it…

But at the edge of her reach, it vanished, and Jaesa was suddenly inundated with a flood of outbursts and rage from the nearby Academy, unable to suppress the tidal wave of passions any longer. With a frustrated cry she fell forward onto her hands and knees. She let out a hiss and opened her eyes as the jagged sandstone scraped the bare skin of her palms. She pressed them against the soft fabric of her trousers as she stood, wincing. She had been so  _close_ …She gritted her teeth.

No, she decided, setting her jaw. She  _was_ close. She just had to go someplace where she could see clearly.

It was not hard to slip into the Academy's hangar bay unnoticed. For all their strength in the Force, the Sith were blind, blinded by their passions to the point that they could no longer see the world in front of them-much less the lavender-robed mouse of a girl that swept through their periphery. It was only when the engine turned on one of the speeder-bikes that any of the guards even looked up. He stumbled, then ran towards her.

"Hey!"

But she was already gone; when he reached the doorway, nothing more than a trail of dust and a fading speck on the horizon left any clue of the girl that had just come in and stolen a speeder. No one would know she had gone: not the Sith at the Academy, not Vowrawn, nobody.

She stared straight ahead as she drove, scarcely blinking nor moving her head to see where she was going. All she cared about was quiet, somewhere she could think. From the movement of her shadow across the sand, she knew she was turning, but she had no idea where. The Force would suffice to get her through.

Eventually she slowed and came to a stop. She sat idling on the bike for a few minutes, staring pensively at the sight before her. All the time journeying, she had been mindless of anything but the task at hand. Now...she wondered if the ruin was safe. She turned off the bike, reached into the storage compartment, and found a night-vision scanner. She examined the remains of the building before her. The ruin was purple and black-not just cool, but cold, and with no signs of life anywhere to be found. She put down the binoculars with a sigh of relief.  _Absence_.  _Quiet_. Perhaps now, finally, she could find what she needed. She put the scanner away and set the speeder down on its kickstands.

She had expected the crunch of sand beneath her boots to be louder in the emptiness of the ruin, but there was nothing: no echo, no wind, only soft, velvety quiet that wrapped even her breath in silence. In the absence of sound, her other senses in the Force flared to life around her. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. It was like tongues of fire were blossoming out from her fingertips.

She could feel them clearly now, the others. That was what they were: she felt certain of it. There were other light-siders. The whole galaxy was open to her reach. All she had to do was touch. She smiled, deepening her gaze. She sensed them, but where? Now that all the stars were beneath her feet, the distance felt so small...how to find such solitary life forms in the middle of a twinkling abyss? Breathing in, she turned her head and concentrated.

She opened her eyes and smiled. She knew the way, just not the name. But just as she was about to leave the ruin, the walls went dark; the moon had passed behind a cloud. Closing her eyes again, she rested a hand against the wall and began tracing her way towards the exit, feeling for light.

She came out into a circular pavilion just as the moon returned. She looked up: judging by the angle of the moon she had two or three hours before sunrise. Enough time to make it back to Vowrawn before anyone discovered her absence.

Then all the world went dark except for sight itself. Jaesa shuddered then froze, her head spinning as if she had looked down from a very great height. The nothingness had returned. The gaping void from Nar Shaddaa: it was back.

A low voice broke through the vacuum. "Jaesa."

The illusion of silence was broken. Jaesa could hear every breath rattling in her brain as she turned around to face the man before her, and when she did, she was transfixed by his ethereal gray eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked hoarsely.

The man approached her. "I sensed a disturbance in the Force," he said. "Yours." His gray eyes seemed to darken as he studied her, searching her face. "What troubles you?"

Her face flooded with heat as it always did when she tried to lie. "Nothing," she said, too loudly. "I just...needed to meditate." She turned away. "Here," she added. "It's too loud near the academy." She felt her fingertips glance across the hilt of her lightsaber, but it felt as remote as watching someone else do it from far away.

She heard the man step up behind her. "You're nervous. I can sense your fear. It threatens to overwhelm you." Gripping her by the shoulder, then by the chin, he turned her around to look into his eyes. "There is something you do not wish me to see." He released her. "A secret, binding you to someone else like strings in space."

She wanted to run, but her feet felt glued to the floor. "Why did you follow me here?"

The man paced. "I was concerned about you."

"I thought you said attachments were dangerous," she challenged. She started creeping along the wall towards the exit. It was terrifying to have to move so slowly, but she couldn't risk making a sound. He couldn't let him see her trying to get away.

He stopped in his stride. He turned. "Who said anything about attachments?" He stepped closer to her, forcing Jaesa to move back, until she was pressed against the wall and his nose hovered a hair's breadth from her own. "This is no matter of desire. I  _need_ you, Jaesa. For reasons you do not yet fully understand."

She had to get out. On an impulse, Jaesa kissed him. It was brash and clumsy; she knew her lips must have seemed sloppy wet, but it didn't matter. The man yanked back in surprise, leaving space between them as the two stared at each other.

"Try me," she said, chest heaving with breath. There was no seduction in the challenge, only a hard and cold threat.

The pale-eyed man studied her wordlessly for a moment before he replied. "Not yet," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He traced a finger across her cheek. "But soon."

Then he drew away, the sudden change in his demeanor changing the very atmosphere of the pavilion. He cloaked his gloved hands in his sleeves. "Go," he said curtly. "You got what you came for."

Jaesa backed out of the ruin slowly, too terrified to look away from the man for even a minute lest he reappear at the other end of her path. It wasn't until she reached the desert that she turned, and then she ran without looking back-she leapt onto her speeder and raced into the distance, flying without so much as a helmet and staring at the horizon without blinking until she could see Vowrawn's villa up ahead.

Pierce was there when she arrived, loading enormous boxes into a transport, working by the light of a blinding power lamp to augment the pre-dawn darkness. He looked up at the sound of the speeder and set down one of the boxes with a grunt that Jaesa could hear even over the roar of her engine. She turned off the bike and strode up the steps in a hurry.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Pierce wiped the sweat from his brow. "Got a lead from the Enclave. Droid traced back to Rishi," he explained, his voice rough from exertion. "Old man's inside, sorting out some last minute details."

"Thank you."

Pierce followed her with his beady cognac eyes as she ran past, his heavy brow crinkling in confusion. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

She didn't stop to answer. She saw Broonmark brush past on her way in, but ignored him too. She didn't pause until she reached the door to Vowrawn's command center, where she found the old Sith stooped over a desk, squinting at the text on a screen.

"I can't go with you."

He didn't seem to have heard her, except to notice her voice. He looked up, removing the golden wire-frame glasses perched on the ridges of his nose. "Jaesa," he said, sounding mildly relieved. "I wondered where you'd gone off to, middle of the night like that…"

"I can't go with you," she repeated, a little louder, but the volume only made her sound strained and petulant, not confident. She tried to stand up straight the way Ishtaa did: tall, assured, but not ramrod-straight like Quinn, with an easy grace that bordered on arrogance. She felt like a child playing at the dresser mirror.

Vowrawn frowned. "Can't? Why not?"

Jaesa hesitated, her posture and her certainty collapsing fast. The old man had always seemed very decent and been kind to the people he worked with, more than any Sith she'd ever encountered besides her master. But it was one thing to like him, another thing entirely to trust him. She and Ishtaa had spoken under the presumption of total secrecy, knowing the consequences if any of their conversations got out to anyone beyond the ship.

The risk was too great.

She licked her lips nervously. "It's my master. She tasked me with fulfilling a personal mission."

"And what mission might that be?"

Jaesa didn't answer.

Vowrawn looked down. "I see."

Her mouth twisted guiltily. "Please, sir. If the mission could wait, I would do it, but the window of opportunity is too small. I can't risk letting it go. I'm sorry."

He eyed her impressively down the bridge of his long, branching nose. "That you are. I sense that you're not saying this lightly." He moved around the desk with the slow, tremulous movements of an old man, before coming to rest with his hand on her shoulder. "Are you certain you don't require any assistance?"

In that second she considered it. For the briefest instant, she felt her resolve turning.

Vowrawn continued. "Or your master," he suggested amicably. "I doubt very much that she meant you to do your... _mission_  alone. As soon as she's taken care of this droid business, you can go do it together." Jaesa had always thought his yellow eyes were unnervingly reptilian, but they were softer now. "You know she cares for you very much. I can't imagine what she'd do if she lost you...and to let it happen on my watch!" He chortled nervously. "I don't much like the thought of that."

Jaesa closed her eyes and swallowed. Her heart hardened. "No," she said. "This is something I have to do alone." She couldn't let her master see this weakness, this  _terror_ at the pale-eyed man. She couldn't look Ishtaa in the eye again, and watch her master struggle to comfort her when the Sith obviously had no idea how to help. It wasn't the master's job to be helpless, uncertain. The master was there to be a beacon, to guide her, to show her the way. Sometimes it seemed that Ishtaa hardly knew the way herself.

 _No_ , she thought. Better to keep her apprenticeship in safe territory, territory Ishtaa knew. The rest-all this-Jaesa could do on her own. She would meet with the light-siders herself.

Vowrawn stared at her solemnly. "Very well," he said. "I hereby release you from my service as protector, and release you back to...whatever mission it is you need to undertake."

Jaesa smiled shyly. "Thank you," she said. She bowed awkwardly, her motions seeming especially gawky when contrasted to Vowrawn's aristocratic pose.

"Be well," he wished her as she left.

She smiled, a little more certainly this time. "And you," she replied. Then she headed out the door, down the dusty steps, carrying the battered helmet under her arm until she reached the speeder and turned it towards the hangar bay.

She stopped at the very edge of taking off, her feet brushing back to the sand as she hesitated on the brink of the desert. She turned to take one last look at the villa, its stony surfaces turning pink and blue in the sunrise. She did not know why, but deep in her heart she felt certain that she would never look on this place again. It made her sad. She lowered her helmet without putting it on, letting her eyes linger on the brilliant edges of the villa, its years of being softened by the sand. She breathed deeply.

Then she breathed again, put the helmet on, wrapped the fabric around her nose and mouth, and took off towards her destiny: at long last, she could reunite the light side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! The next chapters may also be a little while coming, I'm afraid, but once I post them it will be one after the other in fairly quick succession...Thanks for reading! Reviews always appreciated!


	15. Chapter 15

The jungles of Yavin were quiet where the light-sided coalition met. It made Lana Beniko uneasy. The sound of insects chirping, leaves rustling, even the occasional bird singing should have been soothing, but her senses were anything but tranquil. Something was  _wrong_. Even the absence of Massassi disquieted her-as loath as she was to fight them, there was something reassuring about knowing one's enemy. Lana felt like a dove on an open branch with some awful predator lurking just out of sight, waiting to consume her.

Just when she was about to say something to the group, the sounds of the jungle were drowned by the sudden roar of an engine overhead. Lana squinted up at the sunset sky, listening knew those engines.

Kira, the red-haired Jedi representative, knew them too. While the others with them had broken out in worried murmurs, she had stopped at the sound and fixed Lana with a piercing look. "Friend of yours?"

Lana shook her head. "No. I know the ship: one of the standard Imperial starfighter class. But I've no idea who might be behind it."

The two women looked to Ashara Zavros in unison. Lana for her part was not surprised that the Togruta did not answer immediately, if what little Kira had told her about the matter had any predictive value. Ashara had been thought lost to the ways of the dark side for many years; when she resurfaced in Republic space, she remained distant from the Jedi Council, refusing to speak to anyone about what had transpired in the years since she left Taris. Lana thought her a curious choice to represent the grey elements of the Force sensitive, but they needed some sort of organization. Sensing Kira so many months ago had been fortune enough. She could hardly afford to press her luck by holding out for a better representative to lead the unaffiliated contingent.

The Togruta was unusually pensive, her blue eyes roaming uneasily between hooded lids. She did not look at them when she answered. "Something's not right," she said in a low voice. "I can feel it coming."

Kira grimaced. "Joy," she said. She turned to the assembled force-users from the Jedi contingent and gestured. They straightened up in unison and started off in the direction she'd pointed, trudging through the underbrush. Lana's squad followed, until only Kira and Ashara remained in the clearing.

Kira put a hand on Ashara's shoulder. "Come on. You said it yourself. We'd better keep moving."

Ashara nodded her head in assent and followed Kira into the forest.

* * *

Jaesa leaned over to look out of the side windows as she made her descent. Every time a building came into view over the top of the jungle, her heart fluttered, the feeling of the light so strong now that it was like a dancing fire in her chest. She knew they were here, she just couldn't see them.

She closed her eyes to get a better view of the land. Then she smiled. There, she saw them: standing all around in the shadow beneath a temple.

In her excitement it was not long before she found a place to land, the engines of her ship shaking the leaves at the edge of the forest like a typhoon. She didn't even wait until the engine had fully stopped before opening the window hatch and clambering down the outside. Jaesa quickly made her way out of the clearing and through the small thatch of jungle that stood between her and the temple.

Her heart was pounding when she broke through the treeline, but her breathless smile soon vanished when she saw that the area before the temple was empty. Licking her dry lips, she approached with more caution, looking around for some sign of activity. She was right. She knew she was, she could still feel them. They just weren't there.

She heard a whisper of fabric behind her, and the muffled thump of someone leaping out of the shadows. She turned around just in time to see a red-haired woman with bright blue eyes ignite a lightsaber.

Jaesa put her hands up. "Wait," she said.

The red-haired woman narrowed her eyes. She stopped advancing, but didn't lower her lightsaber. "Who are you?" she asked, gesturing with the end of her weapon. "What are you doing here?"

Jaesa started to answer when she saw the rest of the group come out into the open. She felt her breath leave her in an instant. There were at least two dozen of them: Sith, Jedi, strange customs in between that she couldn't identify…The group was headed by two other women, a pale blond human with red-rimmed eyes and strangely doll-like features, and a yellow-skinned Togruta whose eyebrows were pressed tightly together.

Jaesa laughed. For a moment, she couldn't do anything else. Hope and relief bubbled up like a spring, and all her terrified shaking turned to trembling with excitement. She licked her lips to try again.  _I'm Jaesa Willsaam_ , she planned to say.  _I'm like you_.

But before the words came out, the Togruta's eyes snapped wide open. She drew her lightsaber. "It's a trap!"

Jaesa's blood turned to ice, her face to fire. "Wait, no!" Terror gripped her ribcage like a vice. She gasped to breathe. "You don't understand, please listen! I...I'm like you! I want to help you!"

"Ashara!" The red-haired Jedi was frowning at her companion. "What-"

The Sith interrupted her. "I sense it too." Her serene demeanor had turned to shaken fear. "I've sensed it from the moment I began my investigations. It's here."

Jaesa swallowed hard. Her heart was thudding so hard against her chest she could feel an echo pulse reverberating in its wake. "Don't...don't do this."

She felt someone's footsteps behind her. "Let her go."

Everything fell apart. The Togruta leapt forward. Screaming, Jaesa rolled out of the way and into the mud.

She heard shouting and lightsaber clashing behind her, interspersed with crackling lightning. She knew she should get up and do something, anything, but she couldn't. Everything was gritty mud beneath her fingers and the smell of wet forest in her nostrils as her heart screamed in anguished silence for everything to end.

As if through a long tunnel, she heard words. "GO!" The red-haired Jedi was shouting. "GO, GO, MOVE!"

"Get to the ships!" The blonde Sith's voice.

Her ears were filled with ringing and a noise like static again, and she clasped her hands over her ears so she couldn't hear a sound. Everything was screaming.

But she had to move. She was a  _Jedi_. This was  _wrong_. She couldn't sit idly by and let this fighting go on. She had to get up. She had to do something. With shaking legs, she forced herself to stand.

"Stop," she shouted brokenly.

The fighters paid her no attention. She realized suddenly that all the Sith and Jedi who had remained were dead, bodies tangled limb against limb in a mess of blood and dirt. Her heart lurched. There was only one left standing: the Togruta, the one who had started this, locked in blindingly fast combat with the pale-eyed man. Back and forth they went in a blaze of purple and yellow, too fast to follow. All she could know for sure was that the two were trying to kill each other.

Frantic, she threw her arms out and closed her eyes, opening her gaze in the Force towards the combatants. The abruptness of the connection took the wind out of her, but she held on, pressing her fingers outward to anchor the channel. Memories, thoughts, feelings raced by but she couldn't see any of them for more than a flickering second. She pushed inward, focusing her vision until she could see everything in vivid detail. Her face contorted with the effort.

And then the vision clarified. It was still a wild, frantic blur, but as the images flashed before her eyes she could see what was happening.

Ashara. She could see Ashara. That was her name. She saw their first meeting, his hair a black curtain, his eyes pale and mysterious and alluring...so very young, she thought. She had never realized how old his eyes looked until she saw them now, so very young.  _Phero_. His name was Phero. They joined forces. Grew closer. Lips pressed together. She saw them joining-not the act, but the shape of it in memory. She heard a song in the middle of the night, low and dark and then echoed in Ashara's airy soprano.

She saw his figure, rising from the ashes of slavery. She watched his hair turn grey, his eyes turn strange and violet. She saw his ascension.

And then everything was awash in fear.

Jaesa cried out, falling to her knees.

She was back in the real world. She heard the clash of sabers slow.

"Jaesa." Phero was talking to her. "Jaesa," he said in the distance.

 _No._ She had to look. She had to keep looking. With a pained noise, she threw herself back into the vision, forcing herself to look harder, to break through the fear…

Phero had done...something. She saw a face, friendly and lined with warm amber-brown eyes, then it vanished, until all she could see was the pale-eyed man.

His name wasn't Phero anymore.

She saw him aflame in glimmering violet, framed in figures like murderous ghosts. He looked at her with eyes of chilling silver...and reached out to touch her face.

She fell back into the real world, crying out and gasping for air.

The fighting had stopped. The pale-eyed man had sheathed his lightsaber, and was approaching her with an outstretched hand. "Jaesa," he prodded gently.

She yanked away, her muscles shaking. Her throat was hoarse when she tried to use it. "What have you done? What did you do?"

The pale-eyed man didn't answer.

Behind him, Jaesa saw Ashara begin to move slowly. Her hand went back towards her lightsaber. Inexplicably, Jaesa felt the urge to call out, to warn Phero, but she knew that it would be death to Ashara. The noise started and then died in her throat.

But the pale-eyed man had already sensed it. His eyes flaring, he whirled about and threw his arms out towards the Togruta. His body lit up in violet.

Jaesa raised her hand to shield her eyes from the light. Ashara was screaming, a hoarse, horrible sound that sounded too deep to be her. Jaesa averted her eyes and felt them burn with tears, waiting for all of it to be over.

And then the world went quiet. Jaesa sat there shuddering for several seconds as the nothingness filled the air like a vacuum. Then the rustling of the wind returned. She heard dust and the leaves begin to shake. Lowering her hand, she turned her gaze back to the clearing.

She met Ashara's eyes, open and glassy and blue.

Jaesa turned away and retched into the bushes, over and over again. She felt like all of her insides were trying to claw their way out of her throat. She almost wished they would.

Eventually the heaves subsided, and Jaesa sank exhausted to the ground. Her head was spinning and her mouth was filled with the acrid taste of bile. She lay totally still for several seconds. She knew she ought to be afraid, but she was too tired to be terrified. There was nothing left inside her to feel fear.

She felt a hand on her back.

"Can you get up?" the man asked.

Jaesa rose slowly from the dirt. Through the weariness, some shred of fight remained in her, and she fixed the pale-eyed man with a glare. "Who are you?" she demanded in a low voice.

The pale-eyed man sighed and stood. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this. But her fear was too much for her to bear. She forced my hand."

She wasn't satisfied. "Who are you?" she repeated darkly.

The man paused before answering. "I am Darth Nox." He licked his lips. "The woman you saw was...a pupil of mine."

"I saw." Jaesa ground out the words. "I saw what you did to that man, and to her." She raised her eyes to look at him. " _What_ are you?"

"A Force-user. Just like you."

Her lips curled in revulsion. "No," she spat. "You are not like me. We are nothing alike." "You...you  _murdered_ them. It's like you  _devoured_ them from the inside. Why did you follow me here? Were you after her?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"What is?" she demanded.

"The truth," Nox snapped in reply, his eyes suddenly brittle. "And the truth is that there is more to what happened here than meets the eye. You of all people should know that."

Jaesa could think of no reply.

He continued. "I've watched you from a distance for some time now, watching your power, watching you grow. I see your potential. We can do great things together, to reshape this galaxy...but you're afraid."

That was a lie. She was too tired to be afraid anymore. "If I'm afraid, maybe it's for a good reason."

"Maybe." His eyes softened, became a deeper gray. "What if I told you there was no reason to be afraid? Of anything? "

"What do you mean?"

"Everything that people fear, it always boils down to loss. People grow close to things that they are afraid to lose. And when their attachments are threatened…" He made a fist and crushed it tight.

Jaesa couldn't say a word. She just watched him, speechless.

"Friendship, love, 'truth,' ambition...All of these are but chains holding you down, binding you to impermanence. Everything must pass. Everything must fade. The world must change. The question is, will you be left in anguish when the inevitable finally occurs?"

She looked away in silence, eyes looking far beyond the trees without seeing. Memories flashed before her, of all the times she felt like she would drown in emotions. But in her exhaustion they were strange. Remote. She felt Karr's betrayal, her break from the Jedi way, Ishtaa's madness at the loss of her parents, Quinn's night of despair, her own sheer terror when she was cut off from Ishtaa's reach in the Black Veins' base...

"You've seen it. You know it to be true," Nox said quietly. "But I can show you a better way. A way to control your feelings, even when you're surrounded by others going mad."

"How?" Jaesa whispered. "I can't change them. I can't stop it. There's nothing I can do."

She sensed that Nox was waiting for her. She looked up to find him smiling broadly.

"Oh," he said, "that's where you're wrong."

She frowned at him. Rather than explain, he gestured silently for her to follow.

He led her down a path in the woods. "My ancestors learned the ways of the Force, binding spirits to bend to their will as they saw fit. But I shall do more than that."

They broke out into the open, beneath an enormous temple with a carved pavilion. He left her at the edge of the circle as he proceeded towards its center.

When he reached it, he stood with his arms outstretched, smiling. "Now you will see the true power of the Force. Witness as my chains are broken."

He closed his eyes. Then with a great rumble, the floor beneath them began to shake. Nox turned his face towards the heavens as dark clouds blacker than smoke and thicker than storms began to form in the air, swirling around the pyramid of the temple. Beneath closed lids, his eyes gleamed purple, the light streaming outwards to every part of his body.

Jaesa instinctively recoiled as a great wind began to howl. She felt a new presence-greater and darker than any she had felt before, deeper even than Nox's emptiness. She knew then what Nox was summoning.

She watched in horror as the black clouds converged and began sweeping down on Nox's body, funneling into his mouth and through his fingertips. He convulsed, suspended off the ground, as the purple light waged war against the encroaching darkness. The ground beneath them cracked with a sound like thunder.

Nox fell to the ground on his hands and knees, gasping for air. Jaesa approached him gingerly. "Phero?" she said softly.

He laughed, a rich, unsettling sound that was not completely his own. He rose from the ground. "Phero is dead," he said. "His chains have been broken. I am Darth Nox, and I am the Emperor's Voice."

Jaesa shook her head. "No, that can't be right. I've met the Emperor's Voice, the old one. He didn't feel like this. You're not the Emperor. You're...you, but different."

Nox smiled. "No, I don't feel like the old Voice. I am something more." He turned his back to her. "The others were mere puppets of the Emperor's will. An orifice for him to speak. I have done more than that. I have subsumed him, as I have subsumed all the others. The Emperor is my servant now."

Jaesa narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Nox turned partially to face her. "Oh, he's not come without a fight." His eyes gleamed. "But I have learned ways in the Force even he didn't know about. My will is his now, and together we will move the galaxy into a new era. An era of peace and detachment, where all shall be freed from their chains." He reached out his hand. "Join me, and I will show you the way to be free. Let me teach you, and you will never fear again. No more will you be overwhelmed. You will be in control. Just let me show you."

Jaesa stared at his open hand. Then she raised her eyes to meet his. "What must I do?" she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 will be posted tomorrow, and Chapter 17 the day following.


	16. Chapter 16

Ishtaa focused on the feeling of her breath as she flowed through the stances of her daily routine, gently constricting her throat on the exhale. Every so often she would hiss a breath out through her teeth, centering on the sound like an anchor. Quinn was just over on the other side of the study, seated on a couch and reading, but he didn't seem to mind the noise. He seemed to be at ease with one arm thrown over the back of the couch and a small smile small on his lips. Whatever he was reading, it must have been for pleasure.

She felt her foot wobble on the lunge and tore her gaze from Quinn's contented face. She looked straight ahead and threw herself back into the sequence with a fresh breath, concentrating on the movements, making minute adjustments to her alignment and muscle tension until the forms fell into place.

She was only a few moments back into the flow of things when an alarm began blaring overhead. Instantly she straightened and turned to look at Quinn. He had jerked up at the sound of the alarm too. The soft smile was nowhere to be seen as he put the book down with a snap.

By the time Ishtaa had thrown on her outer tunic, he was already making his way towards the nearest defense control panel. Ishtaa hurried to follow him.

"My lord, did you order anyone here?"

Ishtaa shook her head. "No, Jaesa was with Vowrawn last we spoke...and Vette…" Her brow creased. "I haven't spoken to her at all." She looked at Quinn, worried. "Do you think she's in trouble?"

"We'll soon find out." His gaze focused on the defense screen as he typed in codes and seemingly random sequences to move through the layers of security. She saw his eyes flicker back and do a double take. He frowned.

"What? What is it?" she asked.

The intensity of his expression dimmed as he turned to look at her, but only just. He was still thinking; she could see the wheels turning in his head, analyzing and taking apart the problem even as he reeled from the unexpected news. "It's Jaesa," he said.

"Jaesa?" Ishtaa repeated blankly. "What would she be doing here?"

"I don't know, but it's her frequency, and it's a valid access code." Quinn pressed a button and the alarm went silent. Then he shut down the terminal. "We should hurry. I doubt she would have come without warning if it wasn't urgent." He looked around, his gaze falling on 2V-who had been hovering at the edge of an imaginary circle around them for the past several minutes. "2V," he ordered sharply, "go get my mother. If anyone's seriously hurt, she's better equipped to handle it than I am."

"Yes, sir." The droid hurried off.

Ishtaa crossed her arms. "You think someone's hurt?"

"I haven't a clue, my lord. But if they are...better that we're prepared."

"Of course." She uncrossed her arms, then realized that she had only just moved them there a few seconds ago. She held them down at her sides firmly.  _She_ was terrified. No need to act restless and let Quinn see her concern. She gestured with her chin towards the rear of the house. "Come on. Someone should be there to greet her."

Quinn nodded and matched pace with her as she hurried towards the landing pad. She felt him looking at her occasionally as they walked. She made herself look straight ahead.  _So much for not letting him see you worry._ She walked a little faster, heart thudding as she tried not to think about what might have happened to Jaesa and the others.

They arrived to find a ship very much like the one they had used, only this one was plated in a color closer to gold. It was just coming down to land when they reached the landing pad, the engines whipping her and Quinn's hair in a frenzied whirlwind as the machinery slowed to a halt. Ishtaa rushed forward before the steam was finished ejecting from the exhaust vents and waited as the ramp lowered slowly-much too slowly-to the ground, revealing a dark-robed figure in the doorway.

It was Vowrawn, dressed in uncharacteristically drab attire. He descended the ramp at a brisk pace nothing like his usual unhurried stroll.

"Vowrawn?"

"Lord Wrath," he said, sounding winded. "Forgive my sudden appearance, but matters are more grave than we previously feared."

Ishtaa gripped his arm. "Where's Jaesa? Is she alright?"

"She's safe, but she's not here. She said she had a sensitive mission from you."

Ishtaa's eyes narrowed in confusion.  _Sensitive mission?_ Then her eyes widened in understanding.  _Her mission. Our plan to reform the Empire_. Quinn was watching the expressions crossing her face attentively. She sensed the questions brewing under the surface. Vowrawn was fortunately oblivious, and kept talking without waiting for her to comment.

"She gave me her pass code and frequency before she left. Broonmark and Pierce are also absent. I left them on Rishi as a diversionary tactic. They're busy leading our enemies on a wild bantha chase to cover my escape."

Ishtaa suppressed the temptation to ask further about Jaesa's movements. Now was not the time to draw attention to it and she had more pressing concerns. "Rishi?"

"A lead from the Gree Enclave," he said gravely. "I would have told you before I went but...their intelligence was worrisome. I had to act on it without delay."

Her eyebrows tightened together. "What's wrong? What did you find?"

Vowrawn's expression was grim. "That droid on Nar Shaddaa was not the only one of its kind," he said. "They had dozens prepared, ready to track you down at a moment's notice."

"They? Who is  _they_? One of the council?"

"Worse," he said. "The Hand."

She felt her lungs turn to ice. "What?"

"Apparently, one of them received word from a member of the Dark Council indicating that you had  _heretical_ views of the Force and of the dark side."

Ishtaa's heart pounded pure adrenaline into her veins. She struggled to breathe, mind reeling.

"It's only a matter of time before one of them tracks you down," Vowrawn finished gently.

Ishtaa heard the click of heeled footsteps behind her.

Lady Quinn's voice was livid. "Another friend of yours?"

Malavai tried to intervene. "Mother, please, now is really not a good time-"

The heeled footsteps stopped abruptly. Ishtaa turned to see Lady Quinn, her already alabaster skin so pale she might have been a Sith advanced in the ways of the dark side.

" _You_?" Lady Quinn breathed.

Vowrawn was astonished. "Cipher Nine?" he whispered in disbelief. "It can't be."

Vector stepped out of the house, started to say something, and immediately stopped. In an instant, the diplomat in him came out in full force, his black eyes taking in the scene before saying anything.

Lady Quinn was shaking. "Get out," she said in a low voice. Ishtaa amended her earlier impression: Lady Quinn was nothing like a Sith, or rather, none of the Sith could even dream of matching her; that voice could turn the very Emperor to stone.

Vowrawn raised his hand feebly as if to say something, almost looking as if he were about to  _apologize_ for something, but his resolve withered when Lady Quinn started screaming.

" _GET OUT! Get out of my home! Get off this planet! GET AWAY FROM MY FAMILY!"_

She lurched forward as if to attack Vowrawn. Vector surged after her, looking very alarmed. "Melia!"

She continued as if there had been no interruption. " _GET AWAY FROM MY SON!"_ she shouted, drawing a vibroblade and pointing it at Vowrawn.

Vector caught her in his arms, embracing her from behind so she couldn't go any further. "Melia, dearest…"

She stopped then, breathing hard. Her eyes changed as she heard her husband's plea, and her rigid posture softened. The knife fell to the ground with a clatter. Vector loosened his arms so she could turn to look at him. She stood there for a second, staring into his endlessly black eyes, before she nestled her face against his chest, her knuckles white where she clenched his robes.

Vector's lip visibly quivered. He closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. When he re-opened them, his jaw was set. "Darth Vowrawn," he bit out, "we  _respectfully_ ask that you leave this place."

Vowrawn looked deeply wounded. "Cipher…"

" _Immediately_ ," Vector added.

Vowrawn studied the couple, clearly caught off-guard by such audacity and unabashed hatred. He nodded. "Very well," he said. In that moment, Ishtaa thought, he sounded decades older, his words heavy and resigned in a way that hurt her heart to hear from so jovial a person. He turned his attention to Quinn. "Ready your things, Captain." He glanced at Ishtaa. "Wrath," he added. He swallowed hard before looking back to Lady Quinn. "We will depart within the hour."

"Make it half," Ishtaa said, feeling as tired as Vowrawn sounded.

Malavai nodded and set off to make the necessary arrangements.

No sooner had he turned to enter the house than there came a bone-rattling roar like thunder, with the great  _crack_ of something very large and very fast coming to a sudden stop. The sky went dark. Quinn stopped and turned around, and everyone on the platform looked up at once. Ishtaa's eyes widened in horror.

The sky was filled with ships, and more coming out from hyperspeed every second. Ishtaa counted three dreadnaughts and half a dozen destroyers. Last to arrive were the starfighters, too many for her to number as they came shrieking down. Seconds later, the defense systems kicked in, and any hope at counting the ships coming in was lost as cannons-defense system and invading force alike-began to fire in a ceaseless hail of noise and flashing light.

Before Ishtaa had time to process, Lady Quinn was in motion, all her personal feelings scrubbed away in an instant as she leapt into battle mode. "Get down!" she shouted, half-running, half-pushing her husband into the small alcove behind a large and sturdy-looking support pillar, with Vowrawn in close pursuit.

Ishtaa and Quinn remained on the platform, examining the sky, too fixed on their battlefield to be frightened of the explosions shaking the ground around them.

"How many?" Ishtaa asked.

"At least nine major ships, my lord. No telling how many starfighters."

"How many can the defenses hold?" Hearing no answer, Ishtaa turned to him, only to find the captain looking at her with a helpless expression. He didn't have to say the words for her to know:  _not enough_.

Lady Quinn grabbed both of them by the upper arms. "Get down!" she snapped again, dragging them both into the alcove. She'd acted just in the nick of time; moments after they were settled behind the pillar, the incoming fleet's fire rained down on the landing platform and surrounding buildings. Ishtaa peeked out around the corner. She saw and felt the heat as Vowrawn's ship went up in a blast of smoke and twisted metal, and then she was being pulled back and down, pressed hard between the inside of the alcove and something warm with her eyes closed, waiting for the chaos to subside. After what felt like an eternity, the explosions slowed and then stopped, and the warm pressure against her back diminished.

Ishtaa stood on shaky legs, bracing herself against the pillar as she surveyed the damage. The defense systems were  _gone_ , reduced to craters and smoking husks that scarcely resembled turrets. The wreck of Vowrawn's ship was still smoldering, and a few hundred yards away, she could see smoke, lit from within by a reddish glow, rising from what remained of the hangar. The house was still standing, but only just. Were it not for the pillars like the one she was standing under, she had no doubt the entire structure would have collapsed.

Quinn seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "A precise hit," he noted. "It's not destruction they're after. They're picking off our escape routes."

Ishtaa coughed against the dust. "How did this happen?" she asked. "I thought these were superior defense systems."

Lady Quinn glowered. "They're the best," she said. "But only in terms of their programming. I couldn't stock the planet with enough firepower to hold off an army. Even with my connections, that amount of trade would draw too much attention. I was counting on the vast improbability that more than one ship would ever accidentally find the safe window to make massive firepower unnecessary." She shook her head. "The odds that this army could  _just so happen_ to arrive during the safe window...it defies logic."

Ishtaa hadn't thought it possible for her heart to sink any further. "What are you saying?"

Lady Quinn surveyed her sternly. "This wasn't an accident," she said. "They  _knew_ how to find the safe window."

"They've stopped firing," Vector said, and Ishtaa realized he was correct. The invading ships hadn't simply moved further away, they had stopped. Squinting up at the sky through the plumes of smoke, Ishtaa saw something shifting around the edges of the larger ships.

"Ground troops," she said, dismayed. "And it won't take them long to land with the defenses down." She turned to look at Lady Quinn. "Tell me you have another way out of here."

"There are small backup vessels in another garage," Lady Quinn said. "They won't go far on their own, but they'll get us out of here."

"How long do you need to get the escape vessel up and running?"

"Ten minutes."

Ishtaa nodded. "You'll have it." She turned to Quinn. "Captain, get your parents to safety. I'll cover your escape."

He stared at her. "You expect me to leave you here against that many troops?"

"I expect you to obey a direct order, Captain!" Ishtaa shouted. She sighed, her shoulders giving way. "This is my fault," she said, quietly so only he could hear. "I brought this down on all of you. Making it right is my responsibility."

Quinn looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't muster the words. There was a look in his blue eyes that she knew she had seen a long time ago but couldn't place. He nodded, lowering his eyes as he reached into his pocket.

"You'll need these." He held out her lightsabers.

"You held onto them?" she asked, startled.

"I couldn't just...I couldn't lock them away from you," he said, sounding sheepish. "It wouldn't have been right." He raised his eyes, and though he was a head taller than her, he was looking up from beneath worried brows. The expression made him seem strangely boyish. "Please just…"

Ishtaa tried to smile reassuringly. "I'll be fine," she said. Their hands made contact as she took the lightsabers from him. Her smile faltered. She lowered her eyes and tried to appear stern before she looked back at him, as she straightened into Sith Lord posture. "Now get out of here. That's an order, Captain."

There was an instant where she thought she felt him squeeze her hands. But then he was on the move, escorting his parents to safety. Lady Quinn led them at the front of the group, and was just about to leave when she hesitated.

She looked at Ishtaa, then at Quinn. Her eyes softened.

"Here," she said, reaching into her robes. With a surprisingly gentle touch, she pressed something small and cold into Ishtaa's free hand. "It won't hold out against much, and it won't last more than a minute, but…"

It was a pocket shield generator. Ishtaa smiled-a small quirk of the lips, but true. It felt strange to be so warmed in such circumstances...but still…

"Thank you," Ishtaa said.

Lady Quinn nodded once, then she was off, leading her son and husband deep into the house. "This way," she said commandingly.

It wasn't until the Quinns had left and Ishtaa looked away that she realized Vowrawn had stayed behind.

"Aren't you going with them?" she asked.

He laughed. "And miss a battle of this magnitude? My dear, I can only imagine the  _songs_ that will be sung about this day. I would very much like to be a part of them."

The smile Ishtaa gave him was forced. She doubted very much that there'd be any witnesses left to write a song for this fight...and she was sure that Vowrawn knew it too. She thought about thanking him, but when she tried to assemble the words she realized they were unnecessary. She slipped the shield generator into her pocket, unwrapped the parcel Quinn had left her, and withdrew her lightsabers, igniting them. Vowrawn followed suit.

When the transports were only a few seconds out, she tilted her head towards the old Sith. "It's been an honor."

Surprise flickered across his face before it settled into contentment. "Likewise," he said. And then there was no more time for words: the fight was upon them.

* * *

 

The walls began to shudder as Melia led her family through the narrow halls in the underbuilding of the house.

A particularly strong rumble sent debris pouring down from the ceiling: dust and pieces of concrete, some of them large enough to bruise as they rained down.

The continued artillery was puzzling, until Quinn realized that the ships would have had basic sensors. They'd have worked out by now that there were three fewer people on the landing platform than there were when the fleet arrived, even if their sensors lacked the resolution to pick out individuals inside the building.  _They're attempting to smoke us out_ , he concluded. He walked faster.

Melia, ever-observant, followed suit-whether because she had reached the same conclusion or because she noticed her son's change in demeanor, he couldn't say.

They were nearing the hangar when Vector startled, having sensed something the others couldn't.

"Look out!"

Before Quinn or his mother could react, they were being thrown out of the way, just as the ceiling gave way in an avalanche of silt and broken stone. Dust still hung thick in the air when Melia broke free of her son's hold with a scream.

"Vector!"

Quinn could see his father's gray head poking out from beneath the rubble. In a rush of relief, he saw that his torso was free as well, the purple of the fabric merely concealed by dust. Quinn staggered over the rough stones and began hurling them out of the way, focusing his efforts on the heaviest stones he could move without bringing the weight back down upon his father. His mother stooped down beside him, cradling Vector's face in her hands, her fingers brushing over his pulse points.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me? Where are you injured?"

He gasped in pain, breathing hard. "We...we will survive. But we may require assistance to walk."

Quinn thanked the stars silently. In fairly short order, he had removed enough of the rubble that he could see his father's legs, enough to see that there was little blood and only one of them was visibly broken. He guessed by his father's labored breathing that there were broken ribs as well...but nothing that couldn't be treated, even with the limited medical supplies his mother was like to have on a backup ship.

He made eye contact with her, and nodded in response to her questioning gaze. "On three," he said. "One...two…"

They both grunted with the effort as they lifted Vector free, moving as quickly as possible without disturbing his injuries. When they had his arms securely around their shoulders, they went on in stilted tandem, one of Vector's feet dragging uselessly against the floor.

"The ship is just through here," Melia said, adjusting her husband so his weight sat more squarely upon Quinn's shoulders. Then, with a small keycard, she opened the door in front of them.

Looking in, Quinn could see the entirety of the ship, both length and width. It would be an uncomfortable fit with four people…

 _Not four_ , he remembered with a sinking feeling _, three_. He swallowed, his tongue feeling strangely heavy.

Melia wobbled as Quinn let more of Vector's weight shift than he had intended; she noticed the change in her son's expression. "Malavai?" she said hesitantly.

The underbuilding shook again. Turning around, Quinn noticed that he could hear the sound of distant blaster fire through where the ceiling had collapsed, until suddenly all it was all he could hear. He closed his eyes and listened to the blasts, firing over and over again...too many to fight with one lightsaber.

 _She's beaten the odds_ , he told himself.  _She's done it time and time again. Every time you've expected her to lose, she's come out on top. She can…_

He tried to tell himself that she could do it, that she would win. He couldn't. All he could do was try to banish the image of Ishtaa in chains and blindly, flailingly hope that somehow,  _somehow_ she would triumph, as if by pleading enough with the universe he could make it so.

_Unless…_

"Malavai, hurry. We have to go."

He straightened and turned around. "You do."

Melia looked confused. "'You?'" she asked. Then it sank in. Quinn expected her to fight, to rail against him that she refused to lose her son to the Sith. To his astonishment, she crumpled. "Of course," she said quietly. She pressed her lips together and looked up at him. He could see the tears in her eyes. "Of course you would," she said. "I should have known you'd never turn your back on her."

Quinn pulled his parents into a hug. "Not this time," he said. He held on for a moment, wishing he had more time to explain to both of them how he wished he could go and help them. He pulled away. "Go," he said. "Get out of here. We can hold them off."

"We will hold our own," Vector promised, giving a wan smile that strained his face, already looking paler than usual. "Go help."

With a parting glance, Quinn made a sharp turn and then ran, ran like he had never run in his life before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17 will be posted tomorrow!


	17. Chapter 17

Ishtaa could feel herself wearing down. It was one thing to fight a dozen enemies at once. It was quite another to hold off wave after wave without end. She felt a surge of affection for Vowrawn as the old man pressed on, his face ever alert, his voice delightedly relishing each taunt, never betraying the exhaustion she could sense setting in.

He let out a cry of laughter. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked loudly. "I might just defect to the Republic if these are the Empire's finest."

Ishtaa grinned, but it was a pained expression, and it dimmed almost immediately as her attention settled on the transport vessels coming in to land.

"Another wave," she warned him.

"The more the glory!" Vowrawn sliced emphatically through a droid's head before letting out a shock of lightning in all directions. Ishtaa smelled burning droids and sizzled flesh, the foul stench positively burning her nostrils when she hacked through the cyborg she was fending off, the outer shell of his chest tearing open to reveal the smoking, blackened remains of an artificial heart. Her stomach turned and she flinched away an instant before she could move on to the next soldier.

In her moment of hesitation, she saw the blaster being raised.

"Vowrawn!" She shouted, but it was too late. The shrieking shot seemed to drown out her warning, and she swore she could hear the noise it made when the first bolt ripped through Vowrawn's back.

A look of wide-eyed surprise crossed his face. Ishtaa's heart clenched as she saw a look in his eyes she'd never seen before: fear and confusion as he realized that the game was lost. His eyes focused on hers for an instant—and then he crumpled to the ground, red eyes glassy and unseeing.

She stood there paralyzed for a second before the onslaught of blaster fire woke her from her stupor. She fought on, blinded by the threat of tears, the soldiers around her reduced to smears of color and impressions in the Force. She felt the bolt that tore through her calf, the next through her sleeve to graze her skin, but they didn't hurt. They were just  _there_ , and Vowrawn wasn't.

And then her abdomen lit up on fire.

She gasped and doubled over, pressing a hand instinctively to where the blaster bolt had struck. She hissed as her roughened hands scraped over the wound, where singed flesh had fused with the melted, blackened fabric of her tunic.

Fumbling in a panic, she scrabbled with the generator Melia had slipped into her pocket. Ishtaa knew it was no use. It was over now. There were thirty men in her line of sight, and dozens more on the way, and all she had against them were her lightsabers and sheer force of will. Even  _her_ will couldn't stand against this many. All she could hope was that the shield might offer some relief or moment of peace before blaster fire shredded her apart.

Out of nowhere, there came a shock of cold in her lungs. Looking down, she saw something green through the haze, a dart poking out of her ribs just above the wound. She pulled it out blearily, and rolled it between her fingers.  _Kolto._

Only then did she realize she could hear more than just the infantry. Someone was shooting back.

She straightened and turned around, looking to see the source of the fire just as the attackers caught on.

For a brief, shining moment, she saw blue eyes: deep and dark as the sea. Then she saw his eyes go wide and look down at the vibroblade protruding from his chest.

She was screaming before she knew what she was doing.

"QUINN!"

Something ripped open in the Force. She felt Quinn's wound before she saw it, and it was a reflex when she threw the lightsaber-dead on, squarely into the heart of the assassin that had materialized seemingly out of nowhere. It barely registered as he fell that the murderer was dead, his stealth equipment fizzling in and out of color. All she could care for was the other man on his knees whose eyes were rolling in his head.

Ishtaa caught him as he went completely limp. "Quinn, no. Stay with me. Stay with me." Her thumb roamed obsessively over his cheek, so hard the stubble chafed her skin, as if the sting could reassure her he would live.

Quinn's lips were losing color, seeming thick and heavy as he shook and tried to form words. "Don't...ridiculous. Can't leave…" He coughed, a sickening wet noise; Ishtaa let out a keen as flecks of blood flew out.

The barrier flickered. Ishtaa winced as a stray shot grazed her shoulder, but she didn't take her eyes off Quinn. In the back of her mind she heard the shield generator came back on, flickering valiantly for a few more seconds, but it was no use. The incoming blasts were few and far between now, meant to take down the shield and nothing more. Ishtaa didn't notice when the shield finally gave out.

Quinn arched his chest up toward the sky, trying and failing to lift himself up. "Have to…" His eyes roamed manically, too wide, too fast. Blue eyes searched in frantic terror. "Ishtaa…" There was a rattle in his throat and he trailed off.

"No." She pressed her hands desperately against the wound, trying to stem the tide of blood. It seeped against her fingers, flowing relentlessly crimson in rivulets to puddle on the ground, staining her fingers and making them stick. " _NO._ "

Quinn's eyes slid shut.

She set him down and stood without pausing. She turned to face the line of soldiers, now near fifty in number, waiting with ready guns and wary eyes.

She took it as a good sign and raised her trembling chin. "Heal him!" she shouted. Some of the troops exchanged glances, bewildered. Ishtaa's lip quivered. "HEAL HIM!" she shrieked, her voice fraying.

An officer stepped forward. "We have our orders," he said stiffly. "We're to bring you in alive. No accommodations for the others."

"If you want me, you'll have to save him too," Ishtaa said. "He is loyal to the Empire. He is one of its best. I swear on the Empire, I swear on the Emperor's throne that I will come quietly. I will turn myself in without a fight, just help him. Please."

The speaker turned to look at one of his comrades. The other officer stepped up. "And why would we believe that?" she asked coolly. "The word of a traitor, swearing by the Empire? A farce."

Ishtaa snapped. All her vision not yet blurred by tears went red, and she clenched her hands into fists. Her entire body tensed and shook. She felt the ground start to shake before her.

The soldiers felt it too. She heard the cries of panic just before the rumbling, as the ground itself began to tear itself in two, breaking into the heart of the planet.

She held it there, the tears falling freely now, so that through the red she could make out their faces. Such little faces they seemed, quaking before the chasm in the ground. Alone among the sea of uniforms, the two who spoke stood out: one cruel and sharp, the other almost sorry with a look bordering on shame.

Spattered in blood and dirt, Ishtaa raised her chin up high and faced the crowd in defiance. "I am the Emperor's Wrath. I have broken Jedi, felled one of the Council, and led half the galaxy in war, and I will destroy  _all of you_ without a second thought." Her lips twitched and pressed down at the corners, every word stilted and hard. " _Heal him_ ," she ordered, "or I will tear this planet apart. I will bring an entire world down on all of us and I will not sleep until I have watched the last of you burn." At the last, the pretense broke, and her voice cracked in two. "Just let him live," she pleaded hoarsely.

One of the two officers turned suddenly, pressing a hand to his earpiece. "Stand down!" he shouted abruptly.

The other officer turned to him. "What?!"

"Change of plans," he snapped at her. He glared around at the troops. "Stand down!" he repeated firmly. "Colonel's orders." He turned to some of the soldiers behind him and jerked his head. In an instant, they rushed forward, darting over and around the chasm to get to Quinn.

Ishtaa didn't even think to fight them. She just let her shoulders give way and shake as she fell to her knees and sobbed in quiet, choking sounds-relief and fear and hatred mingling in equal measure with the tears and mucus streaming down her cheeks and lips.

She offered no resistance when the soldiers hoisted her by the elbows to standing, binding her by the hands and arms until she couldn't move.

The officer's statement was a surreal haze. "Lord Ishtaa, you have been charged with high treason and conspiracy to overthrow the Dark Council, the Emperor's Hand, and the Emperor himself. By order of the Hand, I strip you of your title and take you into the custody of the Imperial Military, to await trial on Dromund Kaas, in the sight of those loyal to the Empire." Then he nodded again to one of his subordinates, and Ishtaa was dragged away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos greatly appreciated!


	18. Chapter 18

After a stretch and pull that seemed to last an age, the ship came out of hyperspace. They hadn't been in Rishi's orbit for more than a second before stray fire started pounding at the ship's hull.

The sensors were a sea of gleaming red; it would have been easier to count the spaces without ships than the vessels themselves. The void outside the viewports was a whirlwind of debris and flying colors, mad bursts of red and green that burst scattershot all across the cockpit's field of vision.

Dax's grey eyes were on fire as they darted back and forth across the controls. "Losing power!" he bellowed. "We need shields!"

Risha stumbled in the middle of getting to her feet, the floor rocking violently beneath her. "I'll redirect weapons and life support."

"Are you nuts?" Guss shouted. "We can't get rid of life support!"

"It's shields or noncritical functions," Risha snapped. "Climate control's a huge power suck and it will buy us time." Her lips took on an ironic twist. "Unless you'd rather die now in a blaze of glory."

Guss looked sidelong out the viewports: a Republic starfighter chose that moment to tumble past, spiraling out of control with smoke and flames spewing out of the cockpit and engines. Guss swallowed.

"Good choice," Risha said coolly as she brushed past him to the engine room.

Vette made to follow her when she heard the familiar 'ping' of the communication systems. She hesitated in the door frame.

Dax glowered. "Ask them to call back during business hours," he said peevishly.

"Don't!" Akaavi unbuckled and lurched out of her seat. "It could be our only chance of getting out of this mess," she said. She turned to Dax. "The Mon Calamari, the clueless man-child and I will go help Risha."

Corso's head snapped up. "Man-child?!"

"Whatever you're gonna do, do it fast," Dax snapped. "You can pull each other's pigtails later."

Vette stumbled to get out of the doorway in time as the Zabrak strode without breaking step into the hallway. Corso grumbled but made his way with Akaavi to the engine room, shoving fallen crates out of the way irritably with his foot. Guss followed without complaint.

The comm channel beeped again. Bowdaar garbled at Vette.

"Answer it," Dax translated.

She pushed the button, half-expecting static. But almost instantly, she heard a frantic voice come through on the other end.

" _Mayday, mayday, do you read?"_

Vette seated herself hurriedly and pulled the microphone towards her. "We read you," she said. "This is a Republic-affiliated smu-" she hesitated, glancing at Dax, who was making a face, shaking his head, and making a cutting motion across his throat. "-uh, trading vessel, transporting an Imperial under the protection of the Emperor's Wrath, calling for an immediate cease-fire."

" _There's been a misunderstanding,"_ the man said. " _Both Republic and Imperial forces were given 'top secret intelligence' indicating that there would be targets of military value in the vicinity of Rishi. Only it turns out they're the targets. Each of them showed up to find the other."_

Bowdaar warbled. Vette didn't need Dax to translate: _a trap._

"Why haven't they called it off?" Vette asked. "This isn't their strategy. This doesn't benefit anyone."

" _Someone is jamming the comm signals. All standard Imperial and Republic frequencies are blocked along with their usual intelligence channels. Thanks to military protocol and mutual suspicion, neither of them are willing to use a non-standard channel and risk leaking unsecured information to the other side. No one knows this battle isn't sanctioned."_

"Good thing we're non-standard," Dax muttered.

" _I've been hailing every channel I can reach non-stop since the chaos started. You're the first ship that's been monitoring non-military frequencies."_

"What's causing it?" Vette asked.

" _There's a couple of jamming stations on the planet's surface. They're easy enough to crack, but I couldn't get signals through on my own. You need to access two of them at the same time to shut down the system. It's some kind of fail safe."_

"Can't you just destroy one of them?"

" _Negative. There's more than two broadcast locations. These are just the control centers. No telling what'll happen if you take out one of them. It might do what we want-"_

"-or we might not be able to shut the control stations down at all."

" _Yep."_

"Any chance of destroying all the broadcast towers?"

" _It's too risky. Some of them are in populated areas."_

"So how can I help?"

" _You a slicer?"_

"Yeah."

" _Good. I'm only a few clicks out from the A station. If you can break into station B, we can synchronize and take the system offline. I'm sending coordinates."_

"Will do." Vette was about to hang up when a thought occurred to her. "Who are you anyway?"

" _We can get friendly later. Right now all you need to know is that we've got to get this system offline. There's lives at stake. A lot of them."_

"Understood." Vette looked down as her screen chirped. The coordinates blinked back at her, bright and green. "Coordinates received."

" _Good. See you planetside. Over and out."_

She hurried over to Bowdaar's station and entered the coordinates into the planet map. The results popped up on screen.

She turned over her shoulder to Dax. "There's a plateau not far from where I need to be."

He grimaced as another blast rocked the ship. "How far is far?"

Vette scowled. "It's a thirty-yard rappel down to the control station."

Before Dax could protest, Bowdaar chimed in with a supportive warble.

She turned to the captain. "What's he saying?"

"He says we can lower you from the ramp in the ship. When you're finished, he can pull you up." Dax's grimace deepened. "I hope you know what you're doing, kid." He reached up to push a button over his head. "Risha, we need more power to the thrusters."

Another ship exploded nearby with a rumble and a shudder. Risha's voice replied, tinny through the speakers. "Thrusters?"

"Vette's got a way out of this, but we're gonna need a landing, and we don't have the luxury of a runway. Just do what you can to give me as much maneuverability as you can."

"I'll cut back oxygen. You might get a bit lightheaded up there."

"I'll try to keep my mouth shut." He shut the com link down. "Buckle up," he muttered. He cranked his arms to the left, and the ship went into a roll.

Vette kept quiet as the ship tossed and turned, pivoting around the oncoming fire as they made their way to the planet's surface.

As they made their descent into the atmosphere, one of the alarm bells began to shriek.

Vette let out an involuntary yelp as the ship jerked up and forward with a rough _boom_. "Something hit us!"

Dax's veneer of calm cracked. "I know!" he barked. "We're still flying." He pushed the com. "Corso, get the ramp ready, and set up some cords."

"Sure thing, captain."

Dax released the com and dropped back into his seat. "You'd better get down there. We're getting a lot of seismic activity on the planet's surface and I don't want to stick around any longer than I have to."

"I'll grab my gear."

Vette could have sworn she heard Dax grumble something as she left, but there was no time to double back. She scrambled through the rounded halls of the ship as fast as she could with the ship's constant tilt back and forth, the grated floors clanging under her boots. She reached around for the hook on the wall when she passed her quarters, grabbing her gloves, helmet, and utility belt. The helmet went on easily, but one of her gloves got stuck. She noticed idly as she buckled her belt on that it had gotten tighter since her treasure-hunting days: though the side loops still hung freely, the main band that used to slip down to her hips was snug around her waist. _If nothing else, the Sith feed their crews well._

Vette reached the landing ramp to hear Bowdaar growling through Risha's com link.

Risha made eye contact with Vette when she came in, and nodded. "Got it," she said when Bowdaar had finished. "We'll lower the ramp on your mark." She released the talk button and turned her attention to Vette. "Dax can't land the ship here. Too risky with all the earthquakes. We'll hover in place while you go power off the station."

Vette hooked her belt onto the ship's line. "Can the ship handle it?"

"It's not going to drop you, if that's what you mean. We're out of the firefight so I redirected power from the shields. Should give the thrusters enough kick to hold position while you're down there." She handed Vette a helmet. "Just, um...be careful okay? That column's should hold even with earthquakes, but the amount of activity we're reading…"

There was a _clack_ and the ship started to rumble as the thrusters kicked in. Vette clapped Risha on the arm. "I'll be fine," she said over the thrusters' roar. "Throw in a crazy Sith ghost and it'll be just like the tombs on Korriban."

"You got arrested on Korriban!"

"I know! Look how that turned out!"

The com sputtered to life with a Wookie's growl.

Risha translated. "That's us." She thumped a big, round button across from the ramp and stood back as the floor began to drop. A rushing wind filled the hallway. "Good luck!"

"You too!"

Vette made her way out onto the ramp as if on a tightrope. Against all common sense she looked down from the edge of the ramp to gauge the distance below. It was about a hundred feet down to the platform…and about two hundred more to point where the canyon turned black, too dark for her to see. She looked away to take a deep breath and double-checked the hooks on her belt. Then she dropped down to one knee and began to slide herself off the edge of the ramp, feet first.

When she was dangling freely with nothing left to hold but the rope, she called up to Risha.

"Clear of the ramp! Lower me down!"

Vette's heart jumped into her throat as the rope gave a precarious lurch. Her feet started walking the air unbidden, scrambling for an edge. She forced herself to still and swallow the rising terror in her throat. She was so _high;_ even when she'd been a full-time scavenger, this would have been a sharp drop. Two years on a cushy starship had made her soft.

Gritting her teeth, she looked down to see rough granite floor about thirty feet below; the station was just a few yards over.

"Thirty feet," she called up. "Keep going."

Lowering the last few meters seemed to take an age, but Vette kept her mouth clamped shut. Risha was smart to lower her slowly at this height. Any faster and she might not have time to react if something went wrong. By her estimation, 'wrong' meant about a six hundred foot plunge into darkness with no promise of a comfortable landing. Slow was fine.

Still, she was grateful to feel boot-scuffs beneath her feet a few seconds later.

"Hold!" She found her footing on the stone floor, coughing slightly at the clouds of dust that kicked up around her. "Okay," she shouted, "give me some slack so I can get to the station." When she felt the line go slack, she started walking forward. She turned on her com unit. "Hey, radio guy. I'm here."

The voice came through. "Great. Give me a second to adjust to the layout on my end. Everything's on the wrong side."

_The wrong side_? Vette hurried forward to the console, tugging at her line a little faster than Risha could let it out. Radio guy was right. The keyboard was Imperial-configured. Her mind raced as she ran through standard login attacks. _Why would the Empire set up stations to jam their own com traffic?_

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as the radio man started talking.

" _Alright, I'm in position. You have access to the kill switch?"_

"Yeah."

"Okay. Shut it down on three. One...two...THREE."

Vette typed the command. There was a terrifying lull as the fans started to whir frantically...and then…

"Command authorized. Signal jammer disengaged."

Vette let out a whoop. "We did it!"

The man on the radio sighed in relief. " _Great. Thanks a lot for your help. I really-_ " There was a crash over the radio. She could hear the sound of boulders thundering down and breaking with the force of impact through the static.

"Guy? _Com guy?!_ " No answer. Vette froze for an instant. Then she switched the com link. "Risha, get the engines ready and pull that transmission's last known location. The radio guy's in trouble." Vette pushed a button and began to rise on the line back to the ship.

"We just picked up incoming traffic to that area, unidentified. Sorry to say it, but he's probably toast."

Vette's lip curled in annoyance, but she couldn't argue with Risha's cynicism. "I _like_ toast," she replied lamely, her toes kicking in the air against the motion of the cord, which had begun to spin her around in circles.

"Come on, Vette…"

"No, come on yourself. I'm not leaving him down there. I'm going to rescue him."

"I-"

Dax's voice came through, fuzzy in the background.

" _She's not going to shut up until we get him, Risha_."

There was a pause. " _Fine. We'll get the radio guy."_

Vette started to celebrate.

" _But could you please hold still? You're putting strain on the line._ "

She froze cooperatively, though she felt her legs and lekku twitching with the urge to move as soon as she was told not to. As soon as she was within reach of the ramp, she hoisted herself up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the crazy-long cliffhangers! Real life has been a lot of work lately, it's hard finding time to write...especially when my chapters keep growing to be several-thousand-word beasts. I'm pretty excited about some upcoming chapters so HOPEFULLY that will motivate me to make time, but I can't make promises. School first and all that.
> 
> Reviews, as always, make my little potato heart swell with joy.


	19. Chapter 19

Vette pulled herself along the ramps’ arms until she reached the side seats and threw herself down across from Risha. She buckled the safety straps. “Okay, let’s go!”

Risha reached for her com. “All clear, captain.”

The ship revved into motion. The ramp clicked as it locked in open position. As the ship began to move, the hull gave a drawn-out moan that made Vette’s heart jump into her throat.

She felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to brown eyes, warm and reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay. Old girl’s just not used to flying with the door down.” Risha squinted as she turned away from Vette, craning her head to see through the ramp’s opening. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who saw them incoming,” she said. Vette strained against her straps to see at the awkward angle of the ramp, offset from the front of the ship. Just barely, off to the right-hand side, she could see two ships off in the distance, dancing in a firefight of red and green.

“Why are they still fighting? The com lines should be open.”

Risha looked grim. “Maybe their orders haven’t changed.”

Vette turned to stare at her. “What, you think the Republic won’t call a ceasefire?”

Risha fixed her with a pointed look. “I’m sure they have. Not sure the Empire cares.”

“They’re not stupid, Risha. Keeping up the attack now would be crazy. You saw how many ships there were. Neither of them want this place and neither of them have the guns to make it work. Why wouldn’t they call it off?”

Risha grimaced. “Look,” she said, “we’ll figure out whose fault this is later. Right now we need to grab your radio man.”

Through the ramp opening, Vette could see they were beginning their descent.

Risha pushed the com. “Dax, you getting any readings?”

“Yeah. They’re not strong, but they’re there. Looks like he’s unconscious somewhere right next to the command station.”

“I’ll tell Gus to set up medical. You got a plan to get around these fighters?”

“Yep. It’s called ‘hurry.’ Vette, there’s only so long I can scurry around the edges without getting hit. If you’re not back with him in two minutes, we’re pulling out. Clear?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. We’re pulling into the drop zone. Get lined up and ready for my signal.”

Vette undid the buckles and made her way along the ramp arms towards the edge. They were still moving fast enough that the forests were dark green blur.

“This line carries two people, right?” she asked as she hooked herself onto the cables.

“Unless your boy’s a Hutt, I sure hope so. There’s another loop and hook on the line. Just drag him into the waist loop and pull it tight. Hook it onto his clothes or armor if you can.” Risha’s com crackled.

“We’re moving in. Get going.”

“That’s you.” Risha rose from her seat to take position alongside the belay control panel. “Try not to die.”

“Thanks.” Vette took a deep breath. Then, faster than before, she slid off the edge of the ramp.

The second station’s position wasn’t as precarious as the first...or it wouldn’t have been, except that the rock overhang had given out. One jagged, broken edge stood out sharply against planes that had been weathered with age. On the platform below, she could see rubble and shattered fragments of larger boulders that had glanced off into small trench further down. Close to the edge, next to a rock about the size of Vette’s head, she saw a man in a red coat.

“I see him,” she told Risha. “He’s not going to move on his own. Be ready to move out of here fast once I’ve rigged him up.”

As soon as Vette felt her feet touch the ground, she unhooked herself and ran towards the man. She squatted down next to him, giving him a little shake.

“Hey. Hey, you, you alive in there?”

He didn’t open his eyes, but she heard a feeble groan in reply. There was blood trickling from his forehead.

“Look, I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to move you.” As carefully as she could, she draped the man’s arm around her shoulder and began to stand. She groaned and made a face. Moving bodies was a lot harder than Ishtaa made it look. She pulled his other arm to give herself a little more leverage, until he was sprawled across her back, arms tugged around her shoulders and neck. She staggered with the weight one laborious foot at a time.

She let him down abruptly when she reached the rope, prompting a much louder protest of pain from the man. She winced in the middle of hooking herself to the cord. “Sorry…” Her own rigging set, she reached around the unconscious man, lowering the big loop over his head and shoulders. To her relief, it was big enough, and she tightened it around his hips without difficulty. At the last moment, she spotted a free bolt on his ammo belt. It was too big for the hook, but it was something. She attached the last piece of rigging and pushed her com button. “Alright, we’re done, get us out of here.”

There was a moment’s pause before she felt the cord start to move back towards the ship. Awkwardly, she realized the current getup would have her unconscious friend hanging limply by his waist like a rag doll. Before they got too far off the platform, she shuffled herself so her arms supported the man under his shoulders. He was wider than she’d realized on the ground, almost too big for her to span with one arm, but she reached. When the cord took off some of the weight as they lifted off the ground, it became almost comfortable.

Midway up to the ship, her companion started mumbling in pain. She realized after a moment that it was more than pain, there were words.

Only she had no idea what the words were.

She looked down at the man. “Huh?”

If he repeated himself, it wasn’t any clearer. The man had opened his eyes, and Vette found herself distracted by a glimpse of bright hazel irises, their vividness startling against the red, bruise-like shadows lining his lower lids. She heard him mumble something else before his eyes closed and he collapsed against her shoulder. She was strangely aware of the pressure of his jaw and cheek against her upper arm

Out of nowhere, the line careened forward. Vette clutched at the line and the strange man in a panic, hands scrambling for purchase in a moment of sheer terror. The ship was moving. As her heart rate marginally slowed down, she used her free shoulder to nudge the com link button.

“Risha, what’s going on?”

“We’re taking fire, we have to move.”

The ship took another turn, and Vette and her companion swung hard to the right. She squeaked as they came unnervingly close to a rock face. “Can it wait THIRTY SECONDS?”

“We’ll try to keep our movement even, but we have to get out of here. This fight’s getting out of control.”

In her focus on getting back to the ship, Vette hadn’t noticed the growing sounds of laser fire around them. But as Risha pointed it out, Vette realized she was right. Looking up, she could see the freighter taking fire.

The rope swung back towards the left. Vette looked up, mentally calculating how far they had to go. It couldn’t have been more than ten feet.

“Help me...help me scoot up.”

Vette startled to hear her companion speak. “What?” She craned her head over to look at him on her shoulder.

The man looked pained, and his lips were dry, but he repeated himself. “Push me up. The thing you have me on...my loop...it’s free to move along the line. Yours is on the end, fixed. Help me scootch up the line and I’ll pull you up on the cord behind me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Fun, even.” The man managed a weak smile through his grimace of pain. “Give me a boost.”

Exhaling out, Vette lowered her hands to rest below the man’s feet. “Okay,” she wheezed, “pull yourself up.”

Slowly, she felt the pressure of his body ease up. Then the rope gave another sharp sway, and the man came slipping down the line, his rear end landing hard on top of her lekku.

“OW!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the man apologized frantically. “Just hang on…” He tried again, this time going one burst at a time with both hands instead of one over the other. The cord was moving upwards and swinging all the while.

Vette flinched as she swung towards yet another rock face. The ship was moving faster.

“Almost there!” the man said.

“Hurry!”

She heard heeled boots against metal and a palm slapped down on the surface. A moment later, she felt the line began to pull upwards, much faster than the machinery allowed. Before she knew it, she was at the ramp’s edge, where two pairs of hands were waiting to pull her aboard. She gave one more groan of effort, and she was aboard: the stranger on one side and Risha on the other.

The ship gave a sharp turn.

Risha staggered to the side, grabbing the ramp arms for support as Vette and the man went tumbling down. They started skidding back towards the ramp’s edge.

“No!”

She grabbed the cord and held on as it stopped with a jerk, too close to the ramp’s edge for Vette’s comfort.

Vette opened her com. “Dax, close the ramp! CLOSE IT!”

On command, the door began to rise shut, pushing Vette and the man down to the floor. When she heard the door shut behind her, Vette went totally limp, feeling weak-kneed relief spread throughout her entire body. She pressed her cheek against the cold floor.

Dax’s voice came in over the com. “Everyone okay back there?”

  
Risha answered, panting. “They’re fine. Got everyone’s heart racing but they’re okay.”

“Glad to hear it. When your boy’s conscious, get him up here. He’s Republic SIS, they want a status report on why he went off-grid.”

“Will do,” said Risha. “Any word from the Imperial side?” She was looking at Vette as she asked.

“Not directly, but it sounds like leaders from both sides are having a chat on the main Republic line. Apparently the Imperial commander was not happy to hear this whole thing was a ruse.”

“Wouldn’t want to be around for that Sith tantrum.”

Vette chimed in. “Can you try to contact someone Imperial?”

“I can try.”

“Good. Tell them the Emperor’s Wrath’s got a buddy on board this ship, and I want in on whatever talks they’re having with the Republic.”

“Sure. Just one quick question...that whole ‘Force choking through a holo channel thing.’ That real or--?”

Risha cut the communicator.

“He’ll survive,” she said. She looked at the stranger. “You, I’m not so sure about, Mister…”

“Theron.” He looked at Vette as she helped him up. “Agent Theron Shan, Republic SIS.”

“Vette. Office of---” She cut herself off awkwardly. “Never mind. Let’s get you cleaned up with Gus.”

Vette, Theron, and Risha made their way to the med bay with limping steps.

* * *

 

  
Empire and Republic had agreed to meet on neutral territory on Rishi ground. The conference was already underway when Vette and Dax’s crew were cleared to arrive.

They entered to see a stern-faced Jedi speaking to the Imperial side. “You maintain that the attack was not approved by the Imperial military?

Darth Marr crossed his arms. “I do,” he replied with characteristic bluntness. “The Empire has no interest in a pirate world on the Outer Rim. The campaign would be more costly than any resources we could hope to acquire. Your agent’s observations must have been inaccurate.

“Those layouts were definitely Imperial,” Theron said firmly. He glanced over and saw Vette arrive. His eyes crinkled in a hint of a smile for the briefest moment. Then he cleared his throat, his face grew serious, and he gestured to her. “Your agent Vette was there too. She can back me up.”

Marr and the Jedi turned to survey her. She wasn’t sure which was more intimidating: the huge, somber-voiced man in spiky pauldrons or the woman with graying braids and a steel glint in her pale blue eyes.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Vette turned to the Darth. “Sir, I can verify the Republic agent’s report. I helped restore communications from the other station. Keyboard configuration and encryption system were standard Imperial. It didn’t use any of the secret keys I’m familiar with, but it was vulnerable to typical attacks.”

Marr stood silent, uncrossing his arms to clasp behind his back as he considered.

Vette turned to face the Jedi. “Ma’am, I don’t know what happened here, but I can promise you: if this attack was Imperial, they did it without permission. I know for a fact that two members of the Dark Council and the Emperor’s Wrath were in the dark on this one.”

“Lord Marr, we’ve received a message from the Velmor system.”

The amount of disdain Marr could convey a mask on was impressive, Vette had to admit. She could hear the look of impatient scorn on his face as he addressed the communications officer. “We have no operations in the Velmor system. A fact which was previously unknown to the Republic before you blurted it out in a public arena.”

“Y-yes, sir. Quite right. Apologies. But Intelligence says it’s urgent...it’s from Cipher Nine.”

Marr went silent. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, sir. There’s slight changes, but the transmission matches known recordings of her voice, accounting for age.”

“Patch it through and replay the message. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer dashed to the controls and plugged in his datapad. A woman’s voice came through.

“This is former Agent Cipher Nine, previously of Imperial Intelligence. My residence in the Hersilia system has come under attack by rogue Imperial forces. I barely escaped with my life, along with Dawn Herald Vector Hyllus. After intercepting their transmissions, I believe that Darth Vowrawn of the Dark Council was killed.”

“No.” Vette felt sick in the back of her throat, the rest of her too numb with shock to react. She pressed a hand over her mouth to keep herself from drowning the rest of the message. She had to know about Quinn and Ishtaa.

“I have reason to believe Captain Malavai Quinn is hurt but alive, and in their custody. I have no information on the condition of the Emperor’s Wrath, but their silence suggests she is still alive. It was her they were after. If she were killed, I suspect they would make it public knowledge.”

Vette tried not to sob with relief. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath instead. Ishtaa survived.

“If you recall, I made a deal upon my departure from Imperial Intelligence, such that if my conditions were broken it would be most unfortunate for the Empire’s infrastructure. As daft as some of your Sith have been in the past, I doubt the entirety of Imperial leadership is stupid enough to risk such catastrophe. Which tells me you have some rogue actors to deal with.

I have no interest in fixing your political problems for you. My only concern is for the safety of Captain Quinn. Help me and you will have my gratitude, and the promise of my assistance as compensation. The fleet is making for Dromund Kaas as we speak. I estimate their arrival within one standard day. You have half that to appraise me of your plans before I go in alone. I will keep this frequency open. Regards.”

The transmission cut out for a second, then began to repeat. The communications officer shut it down before they could listen to more than a few words.

“We have to help them,” Vette said.

“Tread carefully, Twi’lek,” Marr growled. “It is not your prerogative to give orders.” He paused. “But it would appear luck is with you. I concur. The Wrath and Captain Quinn are assets we Ministry of War cannot afford to lose. It would be wise to recover them, and end this insurrection before it gets off the ground.”

The Jedi spoke up. “And what of our conflict over Rishi?”

Marr turned to glare at the Jedi--or at least, Vette assumed it was a glare. “A conflict manufactured by enemies of the Empire and Republic both. Insofar as we seek to crush this rebellion, your assistance would be welcomed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t authorize such action. The Jedi do not take unilateral military action except as required by emergency. We must consult with the Senate. More to the point, I am not certain it would be in the Republic’s interest to help the Empire with its enemies.” She glanced over at Theron; he shuffled his arms and feet, discomfort obvious. “However, if Republic SIS were to undertake a surveillance operation of the Empire’s military undertakings, I doubt the Prime Minister would have any objections.”

“Then it is decided.”

“We’re going to rescue them?” Vette asked hopefully.

Marr surveyed her darkly through his mask. “We are going to prevent rogue elements from taking over the Empire,” he corrected her, “with the rescue of critical Imperial personnel as a secondary goal.”

Dax scratched his chin, stubble chafing audibly. “Hey, Master Shan, how broad are we defining SIS here?”

Vette shot Theron a look. Shan?

The Jedi looked to be familiar with Dax’s brand of insubordination. Her expression as she answered was weary, but not outright irritated. “Your contracts with Republic suppliers do not make you military. As a civilian, I cannot control your actions.”

“Great.” Dax clapped Vette on the shoulder. “Looks like you can ride with us, kid.”

“Room for one more?” Theron asked.

Risha raised an eyebrow at him. “Depends. You think you’re up to it after that head injury?”

“What, this? Please. I get worse than this at least once a month. I’ll be up and running normally in no time.”

Vette and Risha exchanged significant looks. Risha questioned. Vette, after a fraction of overplayed hesitation, signalled her approval. Risha smirked.

“Alright,” she said, “you’re in.” She extended a hand. “Welcome aboard.”

He shook it, but his eyes were on Vette. “Appreciate it.”

Vette cleared her throat. She turned to Dax. “How long to Dromund Kaas from here?”

“At top speeds?” He grimaced. “It’ll be tight, but as long as we skirt around in open space, away from the Mid Rim, within two days.”

“No time to lose, then,” Theron said. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

There was a shrill beeping sound at the edge of his awareness.

Quinn tried to open his eyes. It was a labor to raise his eyelids far enough to see past his eyelashes.

He tried to speak. _My lord_ … His speech was slurred, his lips and tongue refusing to obey. There was something foreign in his nose. What came out was barely a sound, much less speech. He tried again.

He felt the whisper of air breaking his dry throat. "My lord-" He trailed off as the dryness choked him. He gasped to breathe. There was something in his throat as well. _Tube_ , his mind supplied. _Running through the nose. Down to the lungs or esophagus._

There were voices and lights moving around him. The light overhead was blinding. He closed his eyes with a groan. There was too much light.

"He shouldn't be up yet. Increase the dosage. 50 mil."

"Yes, sir."

Quinn attempted to protest. "No...my lord…" His eyelids seemed to grow heavier with every blink. Everything around him was turning warm and soft, his body seeming to sink into the table as he let his eyes slip shut.

* * *

Quinn awoke with a shiver and a throbbing pain in his chest. Every part of his body ached to the bone, but none more than his chest. It was as if a starship had collided with his ribcage on the jump to light speed. He moaned and turned his head, trying to clear the fog dulling his train of thought and remember what he was doing in an infirmary. He shivered again: he was drenched in sweat, long since turned sticky and cold, and he'd been stripped to an undershirt. He should be at his parents' home, he knew that much…but why was he supposed to be there instead of the _Fury_?

Ishtaa.

He sat bolt upright in bed—or tried, but before he had made it an inch he found cloth restraints holding his arms and legs to the bed. No sooner had he strained against them than he realized just how much everything _hurt_ to move. He fell back to the thin mattress with a grunt of frustration.

As if on cue, a door opened. He craned his neck to look as far as he could without moving his chest.

An Imperial doctor looked in and then, with an almost guilty startle at Quinn's stare, darted back out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. There was an exchange in the hall.

"He's awake."

Quinn couldn't make out the answer, only that it was a gruff voice-clearly military, low-ranking. They had put guards on him.

He wiggled a wrist experimentally to see how much freedom they'd given him. The bindings didn't give, but he succeeded in contorting his shoulder at a painful angle. Eyes screwed shut in a grimace, he disentangled himself as gingerly as he could manage. By the time he'd gotten himself back to a flat-back, the doctor had returned, accompanied by three soldiers: one with a key, two with guns.

Quinn sized up the situation. Four opponents. Three with combat experience, two visibly armed. One with immediate access to an emergency call button. His own person was minimally clothed, unarmed, and barely able to move. The calculation was finished as soon as he'd stated the problem.

He didn't protest as they unbuckled him from the bed, nor when they transferred him to mobile chair. The latter didn't hurt as badly as he'd expected. He optimistically revised his calculations: able to move, a little, with help.

The guards were silent as they helped him into a uniform jacket, and remained so as the doctor pushed the chair through labyrinthine hallways. Quinn followed their example. Better to save his energy in case he saw an opportunity to get free.

They stopped in front of a locked door. The doctor stood off to one side, giving Quinn a strange look as one of the guards unlocked the door-not fear, not quite, but something like it. There was almost something like approval in his gaze.

Quinn chalked it up to the effects of the drugs they had placed him under and broke eye contact as the door slid open. He sat up straight as they escorted him into the room, not sure what he would find there waiting for him.

The room was dark but for a solitary lamp that cast an eye-wateringly white circle onto the metal table where it rested. Anxiety knotted Quinn's stomach. The last thing he'd expected was an interrogation. What could they hope to learn from him? Vowrawn was dead, his lord in custody.

The guards undid his bindings and left him alone in the darkness. He heard the door lock. In the deathly silence, he ran through possibilities in his head. His mother was an expert at keeping her whereabouts quiet; it was unlikely the Empire was any the wiser about her identity, or her relationship to him. The same held for his father. Voloren had been executed, no trouble there. If they were going to trouble him about Broysc, he would have expected it long ago. Unlikely they would bring it up now. Jaesa was a possibility. Her unique powers made her strategically useful. There were also Sith politics to consider; Quinn was ignorant of such things, a rare oversight (or rather, a deliberate omission) from his education, but he did get the sense that Jaesa's apprenticeship was unique. But surely Intelligence wouldn't expect a common military man to understand matters of the Sith? Possible, but poor form and not very cost-effective, given the amount of effort it would take to break him relative to the useful information he could provide.

Which left…

Quinn was interrupted before he could ponder who that left, as the door slid open with a puff of air. The light from outside cast the newcomer in silhouette. But Quinn didn't need to see his face to recognize him.

"Ovech."

He closed the door behind him and came to sit across from Quinn so his face was visible within the circle of light. The laugh lines of his face made him look weary rather than jovial. He removed his cap. "Captain. I wish we could meet under pleasanter-"

Quinn cut him off hurriedly. "Where is she?"

"Quinn, you have to believe, this is not my-"

"Where-is-she?"

Ovech grimaced. "She's in solitary confinement," he said quietly. "For now."

Quinn sat back in his chair, his ribs protesting from having leaned forward so abruptly. "I need to speak with her," he said.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Ovech answered immediately.

"I need to see her," Quinn ground out.

Ovech's look of concern twisted into annoyance. "I'm not sure you understand the gravity of your situation, _Captain_. You stand charged with aiding a conspiracy to commit high treason against the Empire. The only reason you're _here_ is by my good graces. I had to pull more favors than most people earn their entire _career_ in order to speak with you."

"For what purpose?"

"Consider it repaying a debt."

That made Quinn straighten in his chair.

Ovech continued. "I may be able to get you out of this mess alive. But you have to help to make that possible."

_There are strings attached_ , Quinn told himself, careful not to fan his glimmer of hope prematurely. "What about Lord Ishtaa?" he asked. "I'm not part of this deal unless she is."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Why?"

Ovech hesitated a long time. "I've arranged a deal with the military prosecutor," he said finally. "They're willing to drop all charges against you in exchange for your assistance."

"Meaning what?"

The second pause was even longer. "They've requested your testimony...against Ishtaa."

"Have you lost your mind?" Quinn reeled back in his chair, unable to believe what he was hearing. That Ovech would actually suggest such a thing…but there he was across the table, stone-faced and sincere. Quinn swallowed. "No," he said clearly.

"Your lord is as good as dead, regardless of your participation." It was Ovech speaking, but the words were foreign in his mouth. Quinn could hear they were as bitter on Ovech's tongue as they were to his own ears. "And she is no longer a lord. She's a traitor…"

The mask of duty cracked. Ovech stopped mid-speech, unable to continue his sentence. Abruptly, his tone changed.

"Damn it all. I'm asking you to see reason and let me save an old friend's life. There's not a damned thing in the galaxy that will save Ishtaa's life now. I'm asking you-as a superior officer, as a friend, and as someone who would hate to see this Empire, my _home_ , run into the ground by madmen bent on destruction: please. " Ovech's expression was pleading. He'd always been a brilliant speaker, Quinn recalled, always the raucous one at the mess, never betraying a flicker of hesitation in the face of enemy fire as he encouraged the men onward to battle.

A task Ovech would have to carry on without him.

He looked away. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"They're going to _kill_ you!" Ovech snapped.

"Then I am dead either way!" Quinn shouted, rising from his chair. He distantly heard the clang of metal: the clink of his chains and the clatter of his chair as it slammed against the duracrete ground, so loud the guards outside would be able to hear. The movement was too much. He doubled over in pain and groaned aloud as he instinctively reached for the wound in his chest. Ovech moved as if to help; Quinn stopped him with a gesture.

He paused for an instant, taking deep, hateful breaths through gritted teeth. Beneath the blinding sear of pain he felt sick. His stomach roiled with loathing he'd not let himself feel since killing Moff Broysc. When he felt he could raise his head without more agony, he opened his eyes and spoke.

"I've been living on borrowed time," he said in a raw voice, "ever since I betrayed her." He swallowed and paused to brace himself against the table, struggling to catch his breath. "She had every right to kill me. There are nights I lie awake in bed _wishing_ she had." He felt stinging behind his eyes, but he kept his gaze fixed on Ovech. "There is not a day that goes by that I don't regret what I did-" His legs, exhausted, threatened to give out. He crumpled to his knees, one hand still gripping the table's edge, the other splayed across the fallen chair. "Never again," he panted. He straightened the chair and pulled himself to one knee.

Ovech looked at him sadly. "I don't suppose there's anything I can say that would change your mind."

Quinn didn't answer.

"Very well." Ovech pushed a button under the table and spoke. "Ovech to dispatch, requesting medical escort to pre-trial." He released the button, stood, and began to exit the room. He hesitated in front of the door. "I hope...I hope that she is worth it. I wish it could be any other way."

Quinn nodded. "It has been a pleasure serving with you, Major."

Ovech turned to look at him. He looked disgusted, but the disgust was not directed at Quinn. He stood there for a moment, looking at his doomed friend. Then he turned and left the room.

Quinn heard the door lock.

* * *

Ovech strode down the hall away from Cell Bay 4, away from Captain Quinn for what was sure to be the last time.

As soon as he thought it, he stopped in his tracks. Then, changing course abruptly, he turned around and rounded the corner to the right. He walked more purposefully now, with hard steps, and he didn't stop until he'd reached a secure com station.

He clasped his hands behind his back as the dispatcher looked at him expectantly.

"Major."

"I need to speak to the Admiral," he said.

The dispatcher stared at him. "Pardon?"

"The Admiral. I need to speak with him. Immediately, if you please."

"I…" The dispatcher straightened. "Yes, sir. Right away."

* * *

The cell door opened. Quinn caught only a glimpse of Ishtaa's startled face turning to look at the door before there was a push at his back. He stumbled forward, the pain in his back and chest flaring in protest. He gasped as he crumbled to his hands and knees; the impact of falling sent another jolt of pain through the wound. He gritted his teeth against the pain to compose his breathing as the door closed behind him, his muscles trembling as he fought to stand.

Ishtaa was still looking at him. "My lord," he started.

She cut him off by throwing her arms around him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. "You're alright." Her words were muffled by his shirt, but he could feel her lips moving and the heat of her breath. "Thank the stars, you're alive." Throwing decorum to the wind, he pulled her closer, his fingers pressing into her upper back as he closed his eyes and nuzzled against the top of her head. All tension dissolved away and he let himself breathe deeply: in that instant, he was perfectly content.

The moment was broken as his ribcage protested against the deep breath; it was made worse as Ishtaa pushed further up onto her tiptoes, leaning into him. The area around his wound twinged as he reacted to her weight.

She jerked away, leaving only her hands to hover gingerly above his shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said.

He smiled weakly, wincing and gingerly stretching the offending muscles. "It's alright," he said quietly. "I'll survive."

He saw her expression change, the light sapped from her eyes. "Call them back," she said, her voice dark and urgent.

Quinn frowned. "What?"

"Call the guards back." This time it wasn't a request. Her lips trembled and he saw her swallow. "You have to get out of here," she said. "Go to the door and tell them there's been a mistake...Tell them you want nothing to do with this traitor, that you never did. Tell them you betrayed me in your heart long ago and you've just been waiting for the moment I fell from power so you could be rid of me."

"My lord…"

"Don't call me that," Ishtaa said sharply. "Not now, not when someone could hear." She sighed and lowered her voice. "I saw Colonel Ovech when we were brought in," she breathed, her eyes earnest and wide. "He can help you. He'll listen. He owes you his life, and he knows you're a good man. Just ask to speak with him-"

He couldn't hear this any longer. "Ishtaa..."

"Tell him I tricked you. Tell him it was a Sith trick if you have to. Just get him here. Make him speak to you."

" _Ishtaa_."

She shut up at that. Quinn gripped her arms to still her, bracing his thumbs against her shoulders.

"I've already spoken to Ovech," he said.

"What?" Ishtaa pulled away, panic obvious in the way her eyes roamed around the room, as though she might see their salvation if she looked wildly enough. He recognized the gestures that followed as well, as she forcibly stopped herself, closed her eyes, then looked back at Quinn, determination hardening her face. "Captain, I command you to speak to him again and this time tell him the truth: you betrayed me."

The words were meant to sting, to slap him into submission. They only secured his decision. "No."

Her gaze turned to a glare. "That's an order."

"I'm not a captain anymore," he snapped. "And you're in no position to give orders."

"Quinn, don't do this to me. It's not like you, and the Empire needs _you_. Don't you dare change now."

"I've been known to mutiny in the past."

"Quinn, please, I am begging you: call them back-"

He shook his head, speaking over her. "No."

"- _please_ …"

"No," he said firmly. "I can't do that."

"And I can't watch you die!" Ishtaa's voice broke and she looked down at the ground. When she spoke again, her voice was very small. "I love you."

Quinn's mind was a blank. His aches had vanished, leaving a humming, burning disembodiment in their place.

"What?" Slowly, he began to process. "Love…" He choked on his words. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his composure. "After all this time?" He made himself look up. He had to know, had to be sure. "After everything I did to you?"

She nodded, still looking at the ground as though afraid. "I never stopped."

Quinn could hear his breath shaking. The sound of his own trembling seemed to fill the room. He placed his hands gently on her arms to steady himself. "Then you understand why I can't turn my back on you now. I have to do this."

She put her hands on his chest to push him away. "All I understand is that I can't watch you die again... _I-_ "

He lowered his mouth to hers. For an instant she stiffened. A sound of protest escaped her lips as he cut her off mid-speech. Then he felt her shoulders relax, her hands come to rest gently on his shoulders. He felt the shape of her mouth change from angry retort to a soft acceptance, her lips brushing against his own as she pulled him ever so slightly closer.

Quinn felt their breath mingling as they cautiously broke apart, eyelids drifting open slowly as they remained so close their noses almost touched. He searched her face anxiously. Her green eyes flickered back and forth across his face, as if she couldn't be sure what she was seeing. Tentatively, he closed his eyes to steal another kiss.

She beat him to it. She reached up to take his face in her hands, her palms scraping the unshaven surface of his cheek, her fingertips cool against the edges of his ears. He felt her smile and he broke away, staggered by the weight of her affection. He saw the corners of her eyes crinkle and she laughed, before he smiled and pulled her in for another kiss, turned his head for another between bursts of laughter.

The third peck slowed and stilled into something serious. Ishtaa's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as she opened her eyes mid-kiss and broke away. Unwilling to break contact, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed as he locked away in memory the feeling of her lips against his and tried to catch his breath without breaking anything.

Ishtaa spoke, still breathless. "You'll be a traitor to the Empire."

Quinn opened his eyes. She raised her head to look at him. "It's alright," he said in a murmur. He leaned in close, until he was a hair's breadth from another kiss. "I've chosen my sentence."

He kissed her again with purpose. He felt her fingers curl into the front of his uniform. As he pressed his hands against her shoulder blades and the small of her back, he heard the door open. Ishtaa jerked away with a gasp. Her hand found his and their fingers laced together as the entering guards approached.

They started to pull the two of them apart.

Ishtaa fought it hard, clasping Quinn's hand as though she were holding on for dear life, but he could feel her strength had waned. One of the guards pushed a button. Ishtaa cried out, releasing Quinn's hand as an electric shock coursed through her body. Quinn made an incoherent protest to stop them, but was held back by the guards. He noticed that what had seemed like a belt around Ishtaa's waist was smoking slightly, the edges of the metallic parts blackening the fabric adjacent. Quinn blanched, wondering how many times they had used it, or what painful means they must have employed to block her strength in the Force.

The guards pulled him around to face the wall before Ishtaa could get up, and frog-marched him onto a marked semicircle on the floor. They strapped supportive braces around his legs and upper back: they restricted his movement, but he suddenly found it easier to stand. Wherever they were going, it seemed, they did not intend him to walk. He suppressed a flinch as the guards pulled his wrists to cross behind his back and handcuffed him, the position putting an uncomfortable strain on the muscles around his wound. He turned to his right to see Ishtaa being contorted in a similar fashion.

The guards stepped back and the demarcation in the floor began to rise, forming metal walls around the prisoners. In unison, the ceiling started to shudder; Quinn looked up to see crimson light pouring through a line that grew wider and wider as a ceiling slid open to reveal a massive, soaring arch of a ceiling high hundreds of feet above. At the very height of the dome, he could see intricate carvings of gruesome scenes in dusky purple stone.

He lowered his eyes and turned to face Ishtaa as the platform beneath their feet shook. She glanced in his direction and gave him a half-hearted smile. He returned it feebly. Then the platform started to rise, and the two of them stood up tall and looked straight ahead, ready to face whatever lay ahead with their chins held high.


	21. Chapter 21

A thrill of sickly recognition ran through Ishtaa as they ascended into the room above. She had been here before. Looking up into the very back of the gallery on the balcony, she could see where she had sat, though the gilded chair had been removed. The ornate, almost elegant, decor of the space masked eons of bloodshed. This was the hall of judgment. It wasn’t a room where trials were held. It was where examples were brought to die.

The sick feeling turned to chill horror as the crowd raised up a murmur of approval and Ishtaa turned to see the Sith presiding rise from her seat. The Sith Judge’s coiffed silver hair wound around her head like a crown, and her frame was the crowning jewel on the gallery’s face of glittering terrors. Ishtaa never learned her name; it wasn’t important. The day Ishtaa had come to this hall, she was there in ceremonial capacity, to demonstrate the Wrath’s presence in Imperial affairs. She had expected it to be a dull affair, full of legalistic bickering and technicalities, and had prepared herself as such, putting on her full face of Sith makeup and ornament so no one could see the boredom on her face. By day’s end, she had been grateful for the makeup’s mask: no amount of schooling could keep the look of horror and disgust from her face after she witnessed the atrocities this Sith overseer had commanded. She realized distantly that that was probably why they got rid of the gilt chair: during the execution of every sentence, Ishtaa’s fingernails had dug into the armrests and gouged into the wood in her attempt to maintain composure.

There were no armrests here in the holding pen. Ishtaa found herself longing to be untied so she could hold Quinn’s hand. It was probably better that she couldn’t. If she displayed weakness now…

_Be strong. Be strong for Quinn. Whatever they do to us, be strong, and they’ll make it quick. Stars, make it quick._

The gallery fell silent as a second Sith from the Sphere of Laws and Justice stood and raised his hands for silence. The “trial” began.

“Ishtaa, formerly Darth Ishtaa, the Emperor’s Wrath, Ward of the Empire and apprentice to Darth Baras. You stand charged with heresy, aiding and abetting the Republic, and high treason. Captain Malavai Quinn, you are charged as a knowing and willing accomplice to the aforementioned charges. How do you plead?”

Ishtaa kept unwavering eye contact with the panel above. “Some clarification is required. I have been very busy in the service of the Empire, to which of my actions do you refer?”

Scattered chuckles rose from the assembly, echoing in the hollow space. Ishtaa hid a grimace. She meant to be direct, not amusing. Cheek would only hurt Quinn now. She would have to weigh her words more carefully.

As expected, the bailiff was unamused. “The particular instances of your crimes are too many to enumerate here. Over the course of the trial, however, I believe the evidence will demonstrate your guilt on all counts.”

A man in military uniform stood. “The bench calls the first witness, Darbin Sull, former Prime Minister of Corellia.”

A scandalized murmur ran through the crowd. Ishtaa followed the turning heads to see the narrow, pointed face and frame of Darbin Sull rising on a platform towards the judges, up high where all could see. She willed him to look at her, daring him to turn and face the pure-daggered hatred in her eyes and tremble, but he was too busy cozying to the judges and the crowd with his most glittering smile. She curled her lip in disgust.

The Sith judge rapped his gavel for order. “Darbin Sull,” he said. “You swear before the Empire that your testimony will be true and complete?”

Sull nodded, his face seeming more sweaty, protuberant, and weasel-like than Ishtaa recalled. “I swear.”

The officer nodded from the bench. “Proceed.”

The Sith judge dove right in. “Mr. Sull, you first met Lord Ishtaa during your tenure with the Republic on Corellia, is that correct?”

“I did.”

“And what was your impression of her during this time?”

Sull turned to look directly at Ishtaa. She began to wish that she had paid closer attention to Force techniques in the Academy. What she wouldn’t give for the ability to fry a man’s brain in his skull with a look--the _smirk_ he was giving her…

“I thought she was a Sith with incredible potential, a great deal of power, and fine features. Not that I would have said as much to a woman of her stature, of course.”

“And did your assessment of her change as you worked by her side?”

Sull finally broke eye contact with her. “Yes,” he said to the judges. He turned to the assembly at large. “It did. As time went on, I came to realize that she was very different from the other Sith I had encountered.”

“ _How_ different?” the male Sith interrupted.

“Her methods in resolving conflict were not consistent with what I had seen before. Where other Sith typically favored military resolution and displays of force or terror to persuade their opponents to submit, Lord Ishtaa preferred a...diplomatic approach. She chose not to be violent with one of our agents even when doing so would have improved our cover. When Darth Decimus suggested that it might be wiser for the Empire to rule Corellia with a firm hand, she favored their freedom.”

She longed to shout the truth. _I saved your life_. But she held her tongue.

“Have you encountered her leniency in other scenarios?”

“Not directly, your honor. But I do recall a conversation I had with her while at a gala on Nar Shaddaa not long ago.”

Ishtaa froze. This didn’t make any sense. She had never said anything outright, and there was no way Sull could relate what happened during that conversation without implicating himself. Unless...

“And what was the nature of your conversation?”

Ishtaa’s heart plummeted in defeat when Sull turned to look at her. Those were the eyes of a man who had played his pieces well. _Well done. You chose the winning side_ , she thought bitterly.

If nothing else, the man was a gifted liar. In another life, he might have been the star of one of the capital’s opera houses. “At first, I was explaining to her the purpose of the gala. I was looking for potential donors to fund a political campaign. Corellia was a failure on my part. I sought the opportunity to make it up to the Empire, to give back where I had previously fallen short.” His face fell convincingly. “But when the conversation turned to my loyalty to the Empire...our lord Ishtaa was less enthusiastic.”

“Did she say anything of particular note?”

“No, your honor. It was her body language that spoke the most about her loyalty. She did not explicitly state that she was disloyal to the Empire, but she withdrew so strongly when I talked of loyalty to the Empire that I knew where she stood. Not only that, but she verbally acknowledged that to behave in the manner she did--contrary to the Sith code, with mercy and diplomacy in such a way that harmed the Empire’s interests--was treason.”

The crowd exploded in shouts of objection, whether to her ‘disloyalty’ or to Sull’s story, she couldn’t tell.

The lesser Sith raised his hands. “Order, _order!”_ he cried out. The crowd gradually stilled, but the steady whispers had risen to a low, constant murmur.

The Sith presiding fixed her uncanny yellow-white stare on Sull, sending a shiver of fear down Ishtaa’s spine. The overseer smiled, her teeth whiter than her hair, with the shine and sharpness of a beast’s, ready to tear her victims apart.

“Mr. Sull,” she said, “you gave an overview of Lord Ishtaa’s actions on Corellia. Could you give us more detail?”

Sull’s cheeks turned a shade between purple and red. Ishtaa was gratified to hear a quiver in his voice. “I’m not sure I’m authorized to answer that question in a public setting, your honor. It was a military campaign, you see, very secretive--”

“Secret years ago, perhaps, but the campaign for Corellia is over.” Her eyes narrowed. Her smile didn’t. “There can be no obfuscation in this court, Mr. Sull. Please proceed with your explanation.”

“I...very well, your honor. My lord.” He cleared his throat. “When the battle for Corellia was concluded, Darth Decimus advised Lord Ishtaa that she might wish to end my life to ensure Corellia’s obedience to the Empire...an example, I suppose. She chose instead to grant Corellia its freedom.”

“She granted you your life.”

Ishtaa frowned. _Why would the presiding judge turn the witness’s testimony against the prosecution?_ Something was very wrong. The sick feeling in her stomach worsened. All of a sudden, she was afraid for Darbin Sull.

“I...Yes, your honor.”

“I see.” The overseer’s eyebrow rose a fraction. “And where are you now, Mr. Sull?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Lord Ishtaa granted you governorship of Corellia, did she not? Why are you not there now, governing the planet in service of your Empire?”

“It...it was retaken, your honor. The Republic launched an extensive campaign with the aid of the Jedi and staged a coup. When Imperial troops withdrew from the capital, so did I.”

“Then would you say that Lord Ishtaa’s merciful tendencies were beneficial to the Empire in this instance?”

Sull’s answer was immediate. “No, your honor. They were contrary to the Sith code and went against the advice of her military superior.”

“It would appear so.” The Sith presiding peered at Sull for a moment as though pondering him. “The former Wrath will be punished accordingly.” Abruptly, she straightened and outstretched her arm. Sull was raised off the floor by an invisible hand; he clawed at his throat helplessly, lips sputtering for air. The Sith presiding smiled like a cat. “But her mistakes must also be rectified.” She clenched her fist, jerking her hand to one side. There was a sickening _snap_ and Darbin Sull’s body spasmed, his eyes going wide and then empty, his entire body falling slack to the ground.

Someone in the crowd screamed. The courtroom erupted in mingled shouts of shock, sobs, and whispers of disbelief, an undercurrent of supportive murmurs running beneath it all. Ishtaa just stared hollowly at the body that used to be Darbin Sull: stripped of the politician’s smile, his face was vacant and strangely sad.

She felt eyes on the side of her head. She turned to see Quinn, looking at her with unadulterated fear.

The Sith presiding had scarcely moved from her throne. “Has the court any further evidence to consider?” she asked lazily. A pair of servants lowered the platform where Sull's body lay and carried it off without ceremony.

An aide stepped forward from the area behind the judges’ seats to hand over a datapad. The male Sith looked it over.

“The court raises the written testimony of the deceased Darth Baras, former master to both the accused.”

“Permission to speak, your honor, with all respect...” Ishtaa whipped around to look at Quinn, terrified for his sake as he spoke. He shook a little as though aware of her concern, but his back was straight.

The judge in uniform answered. “Permission granted.”

“Darth Baras is--was--a traitor to the Empire, claiming to know the will of the Emperor himself in order to further his own power.”

“A traitor whom you served, if the record holds true.”

Quinn stiffened as muffled reactions rose from the crowd. To Ishtaa’s immense relief, the Sith presiding seemed uninterested in anything Quinn had to say. “An error in judgment,” he said. “One I rectified as soon as my mistake became clear and which I have worked tirelessly to undo.”

“Yes, yes, we have your records. The fact remains that the personal files of Darth Baras contain far more than his own deluded opinions. They are a trove of military and interpersonal intelligence, including the after-action reports of I suspect every officer with whom Lord Ishtaa ever interacted. Many were supported by thorough documentation and visual evidence.” The military judge gave Quinn a severe look. “Which you should well know, having seen these records yourself.”

Ishtaa turned to him. Quinn was motionless.

The military officer answered before Quinn did. The room dimmed slightly as a holoprojection of several dozen files went up, each scrap of information roving in a sphere. “The records in question were shown to Captain Quinn when Darth Baras contacted him on the planet Voss with the intent to gain his loyalty. He hoped to do so by demonstrating Lord Ishtaa’s disloyalty to the Empire, evidenced by her continual disregard for both the Sith code and the Empire’s military interests in favor of her own heretical preferences.” He flicked through the datapad, pulling up individual files one by one. They went by too fast for Ishtaa to read; she caught only glimpses of words she recognized on sight. _“Mercy.” “Unusual.” “Jedi.” “Weak.”_ Her eyes glazed over. The military officer continued. “While no individual record is damning individually, the reports as a whole--397 in number--form a body of evidence suggesting that Lord Ishtaa, formerly the Emperor’s Wrath, held and continues to hold traitorous tendencies upon which she bases her decisions.”

Quinn interrupted before the officer could continue. “By my calculations, across every metric, Lord Ishtaa has been one of the most successful military leaders in the Empire in the past decade. When she has strayed from mission parameters, it has been to the Empire’s benefit--saving Imperial lives or acquiring additional resources.” Quinn sneered. From a distance, it would have been very impressive. Ishtaa smiled in spite of herself: pale and shaken as he was, his brow still clammy with the sweat of pain, he stood his ground and babbled about statistics. “This is beneath the Empire’s justice,” he said derisively. “Is this the strongest evidence you can provide? The word of a failed politician who would say anything to please and the hearsay of a dead, traitorous Sith?”

 

Chatter rippled through the crowd, different in tone from the earlier gossipy twitters. Ishtaa’s heart rose. They were asking questions, turning to Quinn’s side. Even the military _judge_ looked vaguely skeptical now, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“There is one more piece of evidence.”

The military judge scowled at the male Sith’s words. He turned to the aides behind him.

“Bring it forward.”

A green Twi’lek in simple garb handed a datapad to the male Sith. He rose. “What follows is the written testimony of a reliable source close to the accused. Although she is unable to be here at present, her signature attests to the authenticity of the written statement. ‘I hereby solemnly swear by the Emperor’s throne that the words recorded here are true and accurate. Signed, Jaesa Willsaam.’”

Ishtaa’s blood ran cold.


	22. Chapter 22

**Dromund Kaas - Court hall**

Ishtaa stared at the judges uncomprehendingly. She shook her head, brows knotted together. “I don't believe you.” But Quinn could hear the tremble of doubt in her voice. The stones above them let out an ominous rumble. He looked up nervously; though it might disrupt the trial enough to stop the proceedings, if Ishtaa's force powers broke the roof it would come crumbling down on everyone, including her.

The male Sith looked at her condescendingly. “It is the Sith way for apprentices to betray their masters. The struggle for power knows no loyalty, as you well know.”

Ishtaa leaned forward against the railing of the platform, her shoulders corded and tense. “What did she say?” she demanded. “Hm? Tell me. What has my apprentice to say against me? Or is what you have just an empty signature?”

“The document asserts that Jaesa Willsaam used her power upon both of the accused on numerous occasions and found both parties disloyal to the Empire and, in the case of Lord Ishtaa, bore marks of the so-called light side of the force associated with the Jedi order.”

“That's a lie!” Ishtaa said sharply, glowering at the judges’ bench with contempt. “If Captain Quinn has ever been disloyal to the Empire, then I am a Hutt’s first cousin. That you would even think to cast doubt upon his frankly ridiculous level of patriotism tells me everything I need to know. These claims are baseless. A forgery.”

“Willsaam acknowledges that Captain Quinn retains some residual sense of patriotic duty, but asserts that such feelings are now subject to other priorities…priorities which, I might add, appeared in conjunction with and were closely linked to his undue attachment to _you_ , Lord Ishtaa.”

Quinn swallowed hard. He was still too weary and anemic to blush—for which he was grateful—but he couldn’t stop the brief flicker of reaction in his eyes.

“The relationship between myself and the Captain is irrelevant. You’re deluded if you think that Captain Quinn would ever sacrifice the good of the Empire over an infatuation. Which begs the question: how did you obtain this statement? If it is not a forgery, then it was surely coerced.”

The rumbling of the walls grew louder. There was a boom and a _crack_ outside.

The silver-haired Sith snapped up. “If it was coerced, then it was done at the Emperor’s command,” she declared. “Jaesa Willsaam made this statement in the company of Darth Nox, Voice of the Emperor himself.” She regarded Ishtaa down the bridge of her nose, from beneath darkly painted eyelids. “If the Emperor deems it necessary to employ coercion, then who are we to argue?”

Ishtaa’s eyes widened. Quinn looked around, expecting to hear more shouts of astonishment from the crowd: they were silent. Quinn gave Ishtaa a meaningful look. This was not news, then, this new Voice of the Emperor. The coup was already complete.

The Empire was lost.

* * *

 

**Dromund Kaas - In Orbit - Ship of the Emperor’s Voice**

Phero entered the bridge, his stride long and sure like a predator on the hunt, ready to strike. His pale eyes skimmed the viewports around, taking in the surrounding chaos.

“My lord, Imperial starships have begun firing on each other.”

“Tell me something I can’t see,” Phero said brusquely. “Who is responsible?”

“Unclear, my lord. We picked up transmissions regarding something called ‘the Druckenwell Protocol.’ Whoever it is, they are attempting to recover an unidentified agent operating under the code-name ‘Admiral Malcontent.’ We lost their traffic after that, but they’re still trying to reach the surface. I can only assume they’re still attempting their rescue.”

“What sector are they approaching?”

“My lord, at this distance, they could be going anywhere. From orbit--”

Phero interrupted. “Where is their fire concentrated?”

The officer paused, pulling up a few screens on his datapad. He looked up, fumbling to break from his script and answer the unexpected question. “Government district, my lord. Heaviest firefights are in airspace over the justice buildings.”

“Send me the coordinates.” Phero turned to look out the viewport with a faint smile.

“Shall we provide air support, my lord?”

He glanced idly over his shoulder. “No. Withdraw all ships in the area. Have them regroup with the fleet in orbit.”

“My lord…”

“Command the rest of the fleet to strike against the rebel Imperials when they attempt to make their exit, as soon as they’ve broken atmosphere. Maintain pursuit as long as it is practical.”

“I...yes, my lord. And what of our ship?”

Phero’s eyes gleamed beneath his hooded lids. “Maintain orbit, Commander. For now, we wait.” His voice sharpened slightly. “Ready a shuttle with the requested coordinates. Tell my apprentice I have a job for her.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

 

**Dromund Kaas - In Orbit - light Republic freighter**

There was a flurry of com traffic. Vette pressed a headpiece to her ear cone, straining not to miss a word.

_"Deathstrike, this is Manka One. We have an opening, repeat: we have an opening.”_

_“Roger that, Manka One. Ace, you are clear to go. Squadron four, cover their approach.”_

Vette turned expectantly to Dax.

He turned in his chair to squarely face the navigational panel. “Roger that, Deathstrike, this is Ace. We’re going in.” He pushed the toggle for maximum thrusters.

A woman’s voice, delicate and thoroughly Imperial, came through. _“Hurry back, Ace. Dock with the Dreadnought as soon as you’ve recovered them. He--they will need medical attention. Immediately.”_

Dax raised an eyebrow at Vette, not recognizing the voice. She shrugged.

“Roger that,” Dax said slowly. “Over and out.”

With that, he dove into a spiral and joined formation with the fighters descending rapidly towards the city below. The ship rattled and shook as they drew closer to the surface, a handful of enemy fighters that still remained in the area firing at them halfheartedly.

Dax busied himself fine-tuning various settings and switches as the radio flared to life.

 _“Attack group, make for the southeast corner of the building. Repeat: the southeast corner. Aim for the tops of non-critical pillars. Whatever you do, don’t compromise the integrity of the building. This is rescue. Our goal is point of entry, not a pile of rubble._ ” There was a flicker of static. “ _Buzz the rooftops to startle any remaining attackers.”_

On cue, the ships pulled out of the steep dive with only yards to spare between the skyline and their hulls. They went barely a kilometer before pulling into another dive, this one more shallow, to bridge the drop between the skyscrapers and the older, shorter court buildings.

Vette pointed. “There.”

“I see it.”

Green blasts erupted from the ships in front, sending plumes of fire and smoke up from the pillars they had struck...but there was no sign of a gap.

“ _Negative, Leader Four. We didn’t break through. Pull around for another go_.”

Dax yanked the nose of the freighter up to follow the other ships and turn around.

 

* * *

 

**Dromund Kaas - Court hall**

Thunder rolled throughout the hall, shaking the columns to the point of breaking cracks in the stone. Quinn set his teeth and closed his eyes. If Ishtaa’s rage brought this coliseum down on top of them, at least they would take these fools who would throw away the Empire’s glory to the grave with them. He looked at her with great feeling, taking in her face and proud stature for what might be the last time.

She cried out abruptly.

“Ishtaa!”

She collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest. Quinn reached against his restraints to help her up, but she shook away his help. She stood slowly, shaking visibly. He saw tears in her eyes.

He brushed her fingertips, hesitant to touch her still. “What’s wrong?”

Ishtaa took a shaky breath. “It’s real. The testimony...it’s real. But something’s not right. It’s corrupted somehow.”

"How do you know?"

"I can sense her."

“Jaesa? _H_ _ere_?”

Ishtaa nodded, then shook her head. “It’s her, but not…” She let out a hard breath, leaning against the rails for support.

The judges were growing impatient. “Have you anything else to say?”

Quinn fumbled to form a reply, but was distracted by the roar of explosions up above. He turned to stare at the ceiling in bewilderment. The judges, too, seemed to have forgotten their purpose. Everyone turned to look at the source of the noise.

The ceiling let out one last, final groan of protest. Then it all came crumbling down in a fountain of rock and dust.

Quinn threw himself to the side to cover Ishtaa; he felt her clinging to him with equal intent, turning and resisting his movements to shield him from harm. Together they staggered to the very edge of the platform and grabbed hold as a massive slab of rock broke the platform clean in half, the other side of the platform falling fifty feet to the ground before being smashed into a crater of marble. Coughing and gasping for breath, they looked up through the swirling dust—and, now, smoke.

Through the chaos, he could see the through the clouds flashes of green, telltale signs of a space battle. Quinn could only guess from the bolts’ density how many ships were fighting in orbit—countless, many more even than the fleet that had taken him and Ishtaa before. _But why only green bolts? Where was the Republic crimson?_

As if to answer his question, a Republic freighter came to hover over the new hole in the roof, drifting slowly downwards towards the floor where Imperial citizens streamed away in a panic. Quinn held his ground and watched the descending ship cautiously: whatever their affiliation, they had saved his and Ishtaa’s life.

The ship stopped when it was of a height with the remnants of a platform where Ishtaa and Quinn were crouched. Quinn flinched involuntarily as the door opened with a hiss, a ramp lowering to greet him. The uncertainty in his chest faded as the steam cleared and he spotted a flash of blue through the mist.

“ _Vette_ ,” he said, breathless with shock and relief.

She scurried out to the edge of the platform with her arms outreached, followed by a Wookiee and a woman with reddish-brown hair. “You look like something a bantha crapped out,” she said, helping him to the Wookiee for support. Her usual humor was dimmed by a note of exhaustion.

“I’ve had worse.”

Vette ignored his deadpan comment: her eyes were only for the Sith lord behind him as she ran forward and threw her arms around Ishtaa in an embrace. To his great surprise, Ishtaa hugged her right back without hesitation. It wasn’t until they started to break apart that she let out a hiss of pain.

Vette winced. “Sorry,” she said apologetically. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She started to position Ishtaa so they could limp forward together.

Ishtaa gently removed the Twi’lek’s arm.

Confusion flashed across Vette’s face, then hurt. “You’re...you’re not coming with us?”

“Jaesa is here,” she said. “I sense her presence.”

“My lord, no!”

Ishtaa turned to meet his eyes, pain and regret evident all throughout her face.

He broke away from the Wookiee. The beast must have been surprised, for it let him go, arms intact. “My lord, this is no time for sacrifice. We have to get you out of here.”

“I’m not leaving without her.”

“Jaesa may be too far gone. You heard how she betrayed you--”

“And I remember a man who betrayed me far worse.” Her eyes softened and she reached up to press a hand to his cheek. “Should I have abandoned you?”

For an instant, he considered arguing with her. He realized it wouldn’t work. The fire in her eyes was aglow and there was no putting it out now. He ducked his head to kiss her, his hands sliding up to cup her face as hers pressed against his shoulders. He felt her pushing herself up to meet him.

“Come back alive, my lord,” he said. “Please.”

“I will try.”

Quinn nodded sadly. Then, reluctantly, he let his hands fall, his fingertips tracing aimless paths down her arms as they pulled apart. When they drifted apart, he felt the Wookiee reeling him in for the crossing to the ship. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Ishtaa, and she stood watching him for the longest time, only turning when the ramp had once again begun to rise. He watched her retreating figure through the ever-shrinking gap in the door, steam clouding his vision as he strained for one last glimpse of the woman he had just gotten back.


	23. Chapter 23

Ishtaa ran through the crowded hallways that led away from the amphitheatre of the Hall of Judgement. She quickly realized that there was no rhyme or reason to paths taken by the Imperials trying to escape: they were confused, swirling mindlessly like insects fleeing a trap. She spotted a Sith guard looking very confused as he ran back towards the wreckage in the main room; she caught him by the arm and pulled him in close. She waved a hand across his field of vision.

"You will go towards the southwest corner. You will get everyone else's attention and lead them there."

The guard looked through her, his eyes glazed. "I will go towards the southwest corner. I will get everyone else's attention and lead them there."

She clapped him on the arm and wordlessly took the pike-saber from his grip before making off in the opposite direction. The weight of a weapon in her palm restored a sense of confidence she hadn't realized she'd lost, even if the length and the lightness of the staff balanced awkwardly across her palm. She ran more easily; the ache of fear and confusion in her heart diminished, if only slightly. As she sprinted towards a staircase, she heard the guard raise his voice over the tumult of the crowds. " _It's this way! Everyone, come this way!_ "

The overwhelming chaos of the the worried crowd dimmed as they found a semblance of order, and faded to a drone near silence as she neared the top of the stairs. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes. Now that she had quiet, she had to find Jaesa. During the trial, her apprentice's Force signature had been absent, doused by the stifling cloud that had surrounded Nar Shaddaa and then the trial space. Even now, her presence came soft around the edges, blurred as one waking from a drug-induced sleep. Ishtaa tasted the sickly-sweet taint of poison coating the back of her tongue.

Frantic, her run became a stumble through the darkness until she reached a hallway lined with fortified glass. The protective purple force-fields over the glass let out a steady, low hum of energy, surging periodically to counter the high winds of Dromund Kaas' skyline battering the rain-streaked windows. She continued down the hall, the soothing roll of thunder barely sufficient to keep her jagged nerves at bay.

Then she stepped over the threshold into a rounded room where hallways branched off in several directions, and familiarity washed over her with all the crushing force of a wave, knocking the breath from her lungs.

"Jaesa."

Her apprentice stood facing opposite, an almost unrecognizable silhouette. Ishtaa knew the lean, stretched frame, that of a girl just reaching adulthood, but there was a hardness in her carriage...hardness that bore no likeness to the girl Ishtaa knew.

Jaesa did not turn around as she spoke. "You're alive?" It was a question, shaky and unsure.

Ishtaa nodded. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, it's me. I'm here. I've come to rescue you."

"No."

Ishtaa's brow furrowed. "No?"

"You haven't come to rescue me. You didn't go anywhere. I came here for you."

For a moment, Ishtaa stared at her uncomprehending. Then she understood.

She swallowed. "So it's true. What they said in the trial...all true."

"Yes," Jaesa said softly.

Ishtaa swallowed, her gaze blurring out past where her apprentice stood. Part of her wanted to protest...but she'd been here before. She'd spoken these words and she knew, she knew in her heart that they would do no good, not shaking like this, emotion smothering her.

No. No, she would not let one more person she loved-who loved _her_ , she _knew_ Jaesa loved her-turn to darkness so easily. She wouldn't give up so quickly again.

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. This...we can still fix this. Jaesa, come along. We've got to get out of here."

"I can't. Not anymore." She turned around, finally, to face her master. It was then Ishtaa saw the uncanny gleam in Jaesa's eyes. Her brown irises were tinged with gray, the edges streaked with golden-silver. Ishtaa took them in numbly as her apprentice went on. "I've realised now that the Sith are wrong, as the Jedi were. As you are. I've come across a new path...one I cannot walk until my chains are broken. Until my heart is free."

"Free? Free from what?"

Pain flickered in Jaesa's eyes, and she turned away. Ishtaa took hold of her opening.

"Jaesa," she said, "listen to me: whatever this is, whatever this is about, we can sort this out. We can work through this, together."

"I _can't_ ," Jaesa shouted, her voice cracking. "Not with you. I can't take the fear anymore. I can't take the _weight_ of you. Of caring about you. Not anymore." She made a bitter face. "I must not have anything more to lose. Only then will I be free." Hands shaking, she reached up to the nape of her neck, and took her hair in hand. In one stroke, she drew her lightsaber and cut through, letting locks of hair fall to the ground.

The last strand remained in her fingers: a small, tightly-woven braid with pearly white beads on the end. She let it drop to the floor.

Ishtaa looked at the braid, then raised her eyes to look at her apprentice-the girl who had once _been_ her apprentice.

"Jaesa, please."

Jaesa looked away, her jaw hardening. Ishtaa pressed on.

"You were my apprentice, _my friend_!" she bellowed. "I loved you!"

"I know. I'm sorry." Jaesa closed her eyes.

"Jaesa." Ishtaa reached out timidly to touch her, one last desperate attempt. "Please." Her fingers shook as she brushed Jaesa's cheek.

Jaesa's eyes snapped open. With a roar, she threw herself forward, flailing off balance.

Ishtaa stumbled back and quickly ignited her staff to catch the weight of the blow. She parried the second blow more easily, as Jaesa followed through on her swirling attack and regained her balance.

In the split second before Jaesa struck again, the reality sank in: Jaesa was trying to kill her, and Ishtaa had no choice but to defend herself. She steeled her gaze and raised her blade. There was nothing more she could do. All she could do was try to ensure Jaesa survived.

Ishtaa soon realized that her apprentice was fueled by something that had previously been absent-or rather, some check on her aggression had broken off. A piece of the Jaesa she knew was gone, and the new Jaesa was unrelenting. Under the torrent of merciless sweeps and slashes, Ishtaa struggled to find her grasp on the unfamiliar pike-saber.

In a frantic moment, she raised the staff with both hands, blocking the blade of Jaesa's saber with the saber-staff's handle. The blade locked for a moment, shrieking and groaning as its fire mangled the shell of Ishtaa's staff.

Ishtaa felt the handle buckle. Realizing she had only seconds before the blade cut through, she broke it off, snapping the pike-saber's handle in two. She jabbed viciously with the now-useless half.

Jaesa screamed as the molten, splintering end of it scraped across her jawline. Blinded by pain, she staggered back. Ishtaa cast the broken part aside and hefted the remains of her weapon. She kept her distance, watching with hope against hope to see what her apprentice would do.

Jaesa's gaze snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. Ishtaa barely had time to react before Jaesa was on her again.

The familiar rhythm of battle was missing with only one saber. Ishtaa's attempts to parry quickly turned to choppy blocking motions, as she struggled against the seemingly endless onslaught of Jaesa's twin blades-one after the other after the other, circling in dizzying spirals.

The circling stopped as they reached the mouth of a hallway, the walls too narrow to spin so freely. Jaesa's lip curled as she readjusted to accommodate the space. Her attacks became slower, but stronger. Each sweep made a dark thrumming sound as it edged through the force-fields of the window, leaving warped tracks on the glass underneath.

Ishtaa took several steps back in quick succession, counting on the narrow confines of the hall to give her time to maneuver. She swung round the corner when she reached the end of the hall, ducking out of the way of an aggressive lunge. The angle of surprise worked to her advantage; Ishtaa landed a kick on the small of Jaesa's back, sending the girl staggering onto her hands and knees.

Jaesa recovered quickly, drawing the saber she'd dropped with the Force back towards herself. Rather than catch it, she let it fly past her to go hurtling towards Ishtaa.

Ishtaa ducked in the nick of time as the saber flew overhead and shattered the window with enough force to disrupt the forcefield. She flinched back from the unexpected rain and gale. Squinting through her fingers, she almost didn't spot the returning lightsaber. She rolled out of the way just before the double-sided saber flew end-over-end where she had just been. Jaesa caught it deftly. Ishtaa rolled again as Jaesa doubled down, slashing and jabbing at the ground in an attempt to pin Ishtaa.

Finally, Ishtaa caught one of the blows. She locked her blade in place and turned, forcing Jaesa off-balance. With a kip of her legs, she threw Jaesa head over heels out the window, and sent herself tumbling out after.

The rain drenched them both within seconds. Ishtaa gasped like a drowned woman as torrents of water ran over her mouth and nose, plastering strands of hair across her face. With a clumsy swipe of her hand, she swept the hair and most of the water from her face as she regained her footing. Jaesa had yet to recover. Seizing her advantage, Ishtaa moved forward, hefting the too-long lightsaber in her hands to go for the disabling strike.

Jaesa deflected the blow. Ishtaa was staggered by the rebound as the blade, heftier than she was used to, bounced off and drew her back.

Jaesa moved in, but she was slower too.

The rain was blinding. They struggled against each other, rotating in slow, ungainly circles to no avail. No sooner had one gotten the better angle than the wind shifted, sending sheets of water down their faces. With every gust, pellets of rain came like knives to prick at their eyes. Their sodden clothes weighed them down like garments made of lead.

They battered each other without grace, every blow like that of a great two-handed vibroblade. There seemed to be no path to victory, for either of them-the weight of the rain was wearing both of them down with only ragged breath to show for it.

Groaning, Ishtaa turned her blade to go for a stab. She drew back, preparing her arm-when suddenly she sensed something. Jaesa sensed it too.

They both looked up. Time seemed to stand still.

There was a spark and a flash. Lighting bloomed from the sky, forking right towards them.

Ishtaa felt a bolt of adrenaline go through her. Heedless of the wind and rain, she threw her arms up, casting aside her weapon without thought as she reached out in the Force to shield herself.

Lightning struck. It stopped with a shriek and a tremendous _crack_ just above Ishtaa's outstretched fingers, exploding out around her like a cage of light. Through tight, screwed-shut eyelids, she peered to look at Jaesa. Her arms were stretched upwards in very same posture.

They drew their arms down and back, bringing the lightning around them in a circle. Their gazes locked.

Blinding light crackled all around them, casting everything in alternate whiteness and shadow. The two women regarded each other intently, fear and furious energy muddling their facial expressions.

For a moment, Jaesa softened. Ishtaa's brow knitted as she pleaded with her eyes to speak whatever words she should have said before.

Jaesa scowled and her eyes returned to silver.

She lashed out with a scream. At once, the circle of light was broken. Lighting crackled out in all directions, both women thrown back with the force of the explosion. A rooftop structure erupted and caught fire.

Ishtaa turned to her side, breath knocked from her lungs by the impact. She had started to push herself to her feet when a blaze of orange swept into her peripheral vision.

She flattened herself to the ground and rolled as a massive lash of fire whipped down to sear the place where she had lain. She scrambled backwards as Jaesa threw a second plume of fire.

Jaesa prepared for the third blow. Weaponless and taken off-guard, Ishtaa reached out in the Force. With a tremendous effort, she tore the biggest sheet of metal she could find from a nearby structure, and threw it at Jaesa.

The counter-attack took Jaesa by surprise. She skidded back with the force of the blow. She raised the back of her hand to wipe away the blood seeping from the new cut on her cheek.

Ishtaa rose to her feet and caught the water pooling at her ankles. Turning into a spiral, she kicked outwards to shape the water and send it hurtling into Jaesa's center of gravity.

Jaesa was ready: she stopped the water midstream and split it into a thousand drops. They froze in midair and fell to the ground.

Ishtaa let out a startled cry as the ground beneath her feet flew upwards, breaking like a faultline with a tremendous crack. As she came to land, another piece of the floor broke off and slammed into her forehead.

Spots danced before her eyes. Blood dripped thick and warm over her eyelids. Before she could recover, she felt a hand at the scruff of her neck. Helpless and still blinded by pain, she could only flail as Jaesa picked her up.

Her hands clamped tight around Ishtaa's neck.

Ishtaa gasped and choked, scrabbling to no avail in an attempt to break Jaesa's hold. Nails and warm fingers dug into her skin with crushing force. Her whole throat hurt-lungs burning as she tried to breathe in oxygen, bruises starting to redden her white neck. She stumbled back, trying to pull herself free, but Jaesa's grip was unrelenting. As her feet lifted off the ground, she felt her toes brush an edge into nothingness-they had come to the end of the building.

She looked into Jaesa's eyes, expecting to see pure silver hatred written there. She found herself looking into eyes that she knew: brown eyes, round and framed by straight dark lashes, far too young to have fallen so far.

Any plea she might have made was choked out as the back of her tongue began to convulse uncomfortably against her throat, strangling all attempts to speak. All she could do was mouth the words.

" _I'm sorry_."

She reached up and grabbed Jaesa's wrist, probing in the force for a hollow point.

She found it.

Jaesa screamed. Her left arm shattered. Ishtaa breathed deeply as Jaesa's fingers uncurled, relishing the sweet cool air flooding her lungs.

Angry and startled by pain, Jaesa snapped. She swung her uninjured arm wildly and struck Ishtaa hard in the ribs.

Ishtaa was shocked as she stumbled backwards. Shock turned to terror as her feet scrabbled and she realized there was nothing underneath her-nothing but hundreds of feet beneath the skyline of Dromund Kaas.

Above her, she saw Jaesa's eyes go wide. She saw the girl reach out, frantic, half-bending over the edge of the building to catch her. She saw a deadness enter the girl's eyes as she realized it was too late. She watched the last traces of Jaesa crumble like ash. She watched her apprentice grow farther and farther away until she could see her no more and Jaesa was gone.

Her head struck glass. Darkness overcame her.


	24. Chapter 24

**Remnant of the Imperial Fleet, Dromund Kaas Orbit**

Quinn insisted on coming aboard the flagship as soon as they'd docked. Vette kept her complaints to herself as he limped quickly-too quickly for his injuries-towards the bridge, shifting much of his surprisingly-solid weight onto her tiny frame with every other step.

A pale woman with gray hair falling out of her chignon turned around when the door opened to them.

"Malavai!" Vette recognized the voice as the Imperial woman from the transmission. The speaker hurried forward to embrace Quinn, who returned the gesture with intense relief. Vette had to stop herself looking back and forth between the two of them, their stark faces wearing near-identical looks of stress and concern, worry creasing each of their blue eyes and high cheekbones in just the same way. She could only assume this was Quinn's mother.

The reunion came to an abrupt end as Malavai pulled away. "Any word from Ishtaa? She should have flagged a shuttle by now."

Trepidation furrowed his mother's brow. "No, nothing."

Quinn withdrew further, sensing bad news. "What is it?"

There was only a fraction of a second's hesitation before she decided to cut to chase and say it. "We've called a full retreat."

"What?!"

"There's no other option."

"There's always another option." His face twisted into a well-honed scowl, the one he used when he was about to give incompetent recruits the lecture of a lifetime. "A retreat on whose orders?"

" _Mine_."

Vette nearly jumped out of her skin at the dark rumble that came up behind her. Quinn's mother visibly stiffened, though her face appeared neutral.

Quinn himself went quiet at Marr's declaration, but didn't wipe the scowl from his face. "Darth Marr," he muttered, bowing. Formality satisfied, he launched right back into his tirade. "My lord, Darth Ishtaa is an unparalleled asset to the Empire. I must insist that we-"

"Captain, I shall take your strategic commentary under advisement, but do not ever presume to _insist_ on a particular course of action again." Having secured Quinn's livid, temporary silence, Marr went on. "Our situation has changed. The usurpers have called off their pursuit on the surface and regrouped in orbit. They are concentrating fire on our command vessels. Our fighters will keep them at bay, but time is running short. Between the coup and the ships already in my command, we may have taken near half the fleet, but it is comprised of smaller ships. We would lose any battle of attrition. A loss I refuse. If the Empire is to survive we must withdraw from orbit as soon as it is viable to do so."

"Leaving without her is _not_ what I should call viable."

"Your loyalty is admirable," Marr said. "Your impertinence less so. I suggest you return to medical immediately, Captain, before you suffer more serious injury." He gestured to officers standing by.

Vette resisted as they tried to drag her and Captain Quinn off to the infirmary, but Quinn's mother shook her head, signaling for patience. She cleared her throat quietly to capture Darth Marr's attention.

The Sith turned to acknowledge the grey-haired woman. Vette got the impression that he was raising an eyebrow under his mask.

Lady Quinn hesitated before she spoke, as though she was reluctant to say whatever she had planned. "Captain Quinn's assessment is accurate," she said. "Lord Ishtaa's martial prowess is considerable. Losing her would be a detriment to our cause."

Marr's was incapable of speaking softly, but Vette heard a note of gruff respect in his reply. "I presume you have a reason for stating the obvious."

"Risking the whole fleet on her life would be irresponsible. Risking one ship, on the other hand, sounds like a reasonable gambit. Particularly a ship that isn't yours."

"You propose a rescue mission."

"Correct."

Marr paused for a moment. "Agreed. Assemble a crew and make haste. Take what resources you need to man your shuttle appropriately."

"Thank you." Lady Quinn turned to the nearest crewman. "Tell the crew to prepare my shuttle for departure. Advise medical to restock my supplies for emergency evac."

"Yes, ma'am."

She shot Quinn a look. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, she said, "You're not going to stay put, are you?" He began to stammer an answer but thought better of it. His mother turned to Vette with a slight eye roll, jerking her head in the direction of the shuttle bay. "Help him aboard. Don't let him do anything _daring_."

Lady Quinn turned on her heel and strode off, crewmen and petty officers scattering as she made her way to her ship with a storm in her eyes.

* * *

_**The Fathom** _ **, Praetorian class starship, Dromund Kaas near the Dark Temple**

Jaesa suppressed a shiver as she stepped aboard. Her newly cropped hair had nearly dried, but her robes were still damp, and the arid, artificial cold of the ship was a sharp change from the jungle rains outside.

She shuddered again. Belatedly, she realized it wasn't a shiver this time – not a rapid, fluttering spasm in her bones, but a slow, heavy, wracking heave that left her curled in on herself. Her eyes burned.

Furiously, she wiped away the tears and forced her back to straighten. Her spine was made of durasteel. Her heart a desolate rock. She had made her choice, turned her back on the pain, the hope, the fear that came from attachment. She had cut it all away. But the excision left her bleeding.

The wound would have to be cauterized. It was not sufficient to cut off all ties from her old, foolish ways. She would have to burn away the ragged flesh that was left behind.

She turned inward and began to build a fire in her heart. She fed it seething thorns, gnarled with hate, and felt the flames begin to rise. She turned her fury towards the ones she had once loved.

If she could not stop caring about Ishtaa, she would hate her, and everything else she once held dear.

* * *

**The** _**Illyria** _ **, a Socii-class shuttle, Dromund Kaas**

The ship thudded and lurched as the pilot tried his best to keep the ship aright in the increasingly treacherous rainstorm. Malavai winced as a sharp turn popped another one of his stitches. Melia _tsk_ ed quietly, turning him to face away from her. She peeled away the blood-spotted undershirt and swiftly reapplied a kolto patch to the red and purple motley of his back. Malavai hurriedly pulled his undershirt back down as soon as she was finished, fumbling a bit as he grabbed for his jacket.

"You're sure she's on foot?" the pilot asked, not for the first time.

"Certain," Quinn said, attempting to button his shirt. "There's no transport in that district that's not com-linked. She would have hailed us by now if she had transportation." He realized abruptly that he had done up one of the buttons out of alignment. He gave up rather than fix it, eyes straying all across the viewport with growing alarm.

Melia grimaced, pulling her son down to sit properly when he craned to look out the window. "Nothing on the scanners?"

"Not a sign, ma'am. Running heat and motion sensors on a 100-meter radius, limited accuracy another hundred beyond that. If she's here, her signature's too faded for detection."

"The rain here isn't cold enough to mask her body temperature or cause hypothermia. She might be in shock, or suffering blood loss. And she's likely not mobile if we're not reading motion. Something must have happened to her."

"She could be inside," Quinn said in a hard voice.

"Negative," the pilot shot back. "Your blue friend cracked their surveillance systems. If the lady is in there, we'd have heard."

Quinn gritted his teeth. "Keep looking," he said.

* * *

**Kaas City**

Ishtaa opened her eyes—or rather, one very swollen eye—only to close them against the torrential rain. She groaned and tried to move to no avail. Her muscles were like blocks of ice, cracking and groaning at the first push of weight. She strained with all her might to roll over. With an effort that felt like it would tear her lungs apart, she managed to roll onto her side. Unable to move any further, she lay completely still and fought to control her breathing. Every shallow gasp of air, the slight expansion of her lungs, made her ribcage ache in protest.

She let her jaw go slack, relishing in the stream of water that came pouring down her throat. Her mouth was sticky and hot with dehydration. She let the water wash everything away.

* * *

_**Illyria** _ **, above Dromund Kaas**

The ship began to beep and whine, red lights flashing their alarms.

"Ma'am, the ship can't take much more of this. We should return to orbit."

Quinn gritted his teeth. "No."

Now the pilot was growing angry. "With all due respect, Captain, this is getting absurd. We have gone above and beyond to find your Lord Sith. She's not here. We should return to the fleet while we still can."

Quinn looked away from the pilot. If he looked _at_ him any longer he was going to split the bastard's lip for his cowardice. All thoughts of the pilot dissipated from Quinn's mind, however, as soon as he set eyes on his mother. She was holding herself strangely. All of a sudden, she had gotten very quiet.

He touched her shoulder gently. "Mother?"

She made no response. She remained still, eyes transfixed on something far away that only she could see.

Quinn gave her a light shake. "Mother?"

Her face was still and white as marble. Her lips scarcely moved as she spoke. "I see her."

"What?" Quinn raced to the viewport, following his mother's line of sight. "Where?"

"Not here. But I see her. I know where to find Ishtaa."

Quinn stared at her for a moment, uncertainty written across the lines of his forehead. They had no idea where Ishtaa could be. There were dozens of rooftops she could have gotten to, all of them flooded with rain and strewn with rubble—every portion of the Justice district littered with the shattered echoes of battle. There was no way to know for sure where Ishtaa was. There was not enough data.

_There is the Force._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Quinn felt a flicker of recognition. It was only the tiniest glow, but it was _right._ He felt the light kiss his skin, warm and soft as sun breaking through the clouds on a bitter day. She was right.

Quinn didn't know when he had closed his eyes. When he opened them, his decision was clear.

"Lieutenant, give her the controls."

"What?"

Quinn glared down the pilot's protest. "Give her the controls," he ordered. "Make yourself useful and ready the med bay."

The pilot swallowed and nodded, rising from his seat shakily. "O-okay. Yes. Yes, sir."

Melia slid into the pilot's seat as soon as it was vacant. Muscle memory kicked in and she began to steer, expertly making adjustments to switches and levers, guiding the ship lower and closer to the buildings.

Quinn saw her face light up in quiet victory a few moments later.

"There," she said, pointing. Her voice trembled. "I see her."

Quinn squinted, struggling to see through the sheets of rain. Then his stomach dropped.

He saw Ishtaa sprawled and soaking wet in a shallow pool. Her clothing was covered in shards of glass. Blood and rain had matted her hair to her face.

"Take us in," Quinn said. He hurried to the back of the shuttle, casting about for something he could use to get Ishtaa dry and warm. He found a uniform greatcoat tossed sloppily over a crate. He grabbed it and made for the side door, waiting to spring into action as soon as it opened.

He threw himself out the door. Heedless of the rain or the minor lakes splashing all around, he sprinted towards his lord. He crouched down when he reached her, checking her pulse.

"Ishtaa," he said. A roll of thunder drowned out his voice. "Ishtaa," he said a little louder. "My lord, can you hear me?"

The howling wind swallowed any sound she might have made. Her head lolled over to the side, submerging part of her mouth and nose in the water. Quinn straightened her head and arranged the greatcoat over his arms. He cradled her neck and the backs of her legs and pulled her body towards him to lie upon the thick grey wool. He wrapped the coat around her and picked her up. He cringed against the strain in his back—fought the pain of barely-healed wounds trying to reopen.

Melia met him at the door of the shuttle, scanner already in hand. She herded Quinn towards their makeshift medbay and helped him to set Ishtaa down on the stretcher.

Quinn smoothed the wet, bloody hair from Ishtaa's face as his mother scanned. "You're safe," he said, as much to himself as to the unconscious woman before him. "You're alive. You're alive."


	25. Chapter 25

Quinn had taken up residence in the chair next to Ishtaa’s bed after she was removed from the kolto. He’d meant to keep watch for signs of consciousness or pain, but somewhere along the way he’d folded his arms to rest his head on the edge of her bed…and from there it was only a matter of time until his eyes drifted shut. Perhaps his mother had a point: though he was recovering remarkably well, and had received excellent treatment, he _had_ come within a hair’s breadth of death not three days ago.

It was a shallow sleep of the dizzying, dreamless sort. Quinn closed his eyes and when he opened them Colonel Ovech was tapping him on the shoulder—Colonel Ovech, who was most definitely on a different ship, much less in a different room, when Quinn had closed his eyes.

Quinn groaned and sat up, stretching. He remembered too late the stitches in his back. (He assessed them rapidly: _no tears, no popping, no sudden warmth like blood or fluid_. All was well.) Grimacing blearily, he squinted around the room for a chrono. He found one over the door: 1000 hours. (Last he remembered was 2100 hours. Apparently, his body needed the sleep.)

“How is she?” Ovech asked. It sounded as though he was repeating the question. Quinn must not have heard the first time.

“Alive,” he answered. He stifled a yawn.

Ovech snorted. “I gathered that,” he said. “But since you’re not fretting aloud over a list of diagnoses, I assume she’ll be alright.” He opened the door and gestured. “Walk with me,” he said. “The staff will be around if she wakes up.”

Quinn hesitated, but stood. He glanced back at Ishtaa’s sleeping form before he followed Ovech out the door.

He felt himself waking up as he walked. His normal, military stride returned quickly as he moved to keep pace with Ovech.

“I suspect thanks are in order,” Quinn said.

Ovech grinned. “Yes, your rescue was my call. The whole protocol was my design. I just didn’t think we’d have to implement it so soon.”

Quinn stared at him, confused. The colonel sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Blast. I kept it a secret from you—did that on purpose--but at this point I didn't think you were completely in the dark. I’d’ve thought by now you’d’ve at least heard rumors or _something_.”

“Rumors of what?”

“We called it Operation Malcontent. After what happened with you and Broysc at Druckenwell, with what he tried to do to me later…I realized something had to change. Me and my crew got out alright. But there’s thousands of our boys over the years that weren’t so lucky. All because of Broysc’s stupid whims and a hierarchy that wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

“After you took care of Broysc, people started coming out of the woodwork, criticizing him. All of ‘em saying they’d’ve taken him out themselves if they’d had the chance. Load of bollocks, of course—I’m sure you know the sort—but I held them to it. I got a little cadre of support behind the idea: a network of likeminded operatives to take down rogue leadership, to intervene in the interests of the Empire when someone in power got too big for their britches.”

Malavai felt sick. “You did this?” he asked numbly. “You planned this for… how long? This is treason, what you’re talking about. Did you take leave of all your senses while you were sitting behind a desk?”

“This came before the desk, actually,” Ovech said off-handedly. “That’s why I took the job.” He snorted at the way Quinn’s head whipped around in astonishment. “What, you think I’d’ve let some pompous shirt stick me in a broom closet otherwise? I needed the resources—finances, authorization, access to networks of people in high places who could help me do the right thing _without_ crossing the line into treason.

“It wasn’t easy going at first. A lot of people reacted like you did. Either told me to go to hell or told me to forget we’d ever spoken for both our sakes. It took some time. But eventually I found supporters. People who agreed that a single madman shouldn’t have permission to take down half a million Imperial lives.

“Most everyone who served with you at Druckenwell agreed with me, though some of them weren’t high-ranking enough to stick their neck out proper. Same went for your boys on Balmorra, funny enough. Thought you said they hated you?”

“They did,” Quinn said softly. He was only half hearing what Ovech was saying at this point. His ears were still ringing with this madness. _Treason_. Overriding the orders of a direct superior, mutiny, staging a coup within the fleet…all because of him, because of Druckenwell. And people _supported_ this? Supported _him_?

He wondered dimly if Jillins was one of the plan’s backers. Perhaps the daft boy had managed not to get shot after all.

“Things were going well…then we were found out. I thought for sure I’d be shot dead on the spot, all our hard work and plans unraveled right then and there. Imagine my surprise when this Sith—full-blooded Sith, tendrils and terrifying eyes and all, a _Dark Council_ member no less—offered his full support.”

“Vowrawn,” Quinn murmured under his breath.

“Gave us everything he could, that man. He let us use his supply channels, shared any information he could without compromising troops. Let us use his penthouse for negotiations with high-ranking officers when he thought a display of wealth might grease the wheels.” Ovech looked downcast. “When I got on the com and heard what they did to him…”

Quinn studied his old friend with a grim expression. For the past 48 hours, all his thoughts had been of getting out alive and rescuing Ishtaa. Now that it was over, the political and military reality of their situation was catching up to him. “What happens now?” he asked.

“Things are complicated. When we were planning all this, we’d always assumed that we’d carry out our operation and then the Empire would carry on, business as usual…just with fewer Moff Broyscs getting troops killed. Never thought we’d have to kill Imperial troops ourselves.”

“Don’t be so hard on yours—”

“This is civil war, Quinn.” The colonel’s voice lost all its jovial manner. Quinn fell quiet, realizing the man was deadly serious. “We might have half the fleet with Marr on our side, but make no mistake. We’re going to be killing Imperial soldiers if we keep up this fight.”

Quinn paused. “What’s at stake,” he asked, “besides my life and Ishtaa’s? If we went into hiding…you could stop the fighting, we’d go on the run—”

“It’s too late for that now. Besides,” Ovech added darkly, “from the reports I’ve been party to, this madness isn’t over. Intelligence is just now putting together a lot of pieces that have been worrisome for a while but never made sense…the picture’s not pretty. Whoever this Emperor’s Voice is, he’s different. He’s not just interested in conquering new worlds for the glory of the Empire or maintaining order. He’s dangerous. And he’s not going to stop.”

The Colonel gave Quinn a meaningful look. “We’re going to need people. Good people,” he added. “If we’re going to stand any chance against this lunatic, we need the Empire’s finest.” He withdrew a small box from his breast pocket and handed it to Quinn. “It’s ‘bout time the galaxy realized that includes you.”

Quinn felt his breath hitch as he opened the box. Two rows of six gleamed up at him—one red, one blue. He was transfixed until, a moment later, Ovech cleared his throat.

“Ah, almost forgot these.” He retrieved something else from his pocket. “Your code cylinders,” he said, handing them over with an unceremonious gesture that didn’t quite match the look of pride in his eyes. Quinn rolled the small cylinders between his fingers slowly, counting and then re-counting them. _Four_ : the number sounded wrong, even as he redid the sum a third time. He wondered if this was the madness of sleep deprivation setting in.

He was struck dumb. Words escaped him. Even the thought of saying something seemed impossible. There were no sounds or letters to shape his mouth around – just blank, blinding surprise and a wellspring of feeling he’d not felt since his victory at Druckenwell.

He swore he’d meant to salute the Colonel. Somehow instead he ended up throwing an arm around the man, clapping him on the back and trying not to blubber.

The two broke apart and Ovech snapped into a salute, a gesture Quinn returned smartly.

There was a glint in Ovech’s eye as he beamed. “Congratulations, _Admiral_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know there are several ranks between Captain and Admiral. But as Ovech points out, they're in a civil war. The Marr/Ovech/Quinn & co contingent is basically a fresh military organization they can restructure however makes sense. Given that so many people agreed to support the loyalists (i.e. Marr & Ovech, not Nox) because of Quinn/Druckenwell, seems fitting that he'd be given a greater leadership role.


End file.
